


we're only stones around the sun

by snowingwhite



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Smoking, harry's so in love with louis it's awful, i wish this held anyth of substance it genuinely doesnt its almost 50k of gross pining, liam is kinda minor idk i forgot abt him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 46,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowingwhite/pseuds/snowingwhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Harry used to talk about him like that once, months ago when he wouldn’t let himself linger on touches that lasted a beat too long or looks that held unspoken promises. Back then it’d been easy, with the hiding of feelings, now it’s all a mess, complicated and hard. He doesn’t know where one feeling starts and another one stops, how he’s supposed to figure it all out. He doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pick up and begin untangling, where it’s going to lead him if he does. He doesn’t know if he wants to find out. </i> </p><p>or, Harry finds that he can't ignore his feelings for his best friend when the months start ticking down to Louis's graduation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serised](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serised/gifts).



> this is for [serised](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Serised/pseuds/Serised). i hope i didn't butcher your prompt too bad, i tried to stay close to the main idea but as you can probably tell i got a bit carried away but anyway i hope i did the story you had in mind justice!!
> 
> thanks goes to ham for being my own lil britpicker and for helping me out with all the uni stuff and to sabrina for handholding and helping me navigate through this when i was completely lost in the early stages and another thanks to alyssa for being my lil cheerleader and helping me stay on track when all i wanted to do was sleep. i love all of you a ton and i'm v lucky to have you as my friends!!
> 
> another thanks to danielle for being my beta and for emotional support when i was having twenty breakdowns over this. thank you for sticking with me for a year and not dumping me and always helping me when i come to you in times of crisis. i love you a lot and thanks for all the work you put into this!!
> 
> quick psa: i did try to make this as ~british as i could and ham helped out a lot with that but it hasn't been properly britpicked and i did change the housing situation knowingly, but other than that i hope it stays somewhat true to the theme.
> 
> title comes from [stones around the sun by lewis watson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1008VJlVwcstones) and i'm sorry for the giant mess you're about to read. i really don't know how this spiraled so out of control, this is not the tops 20k fic i outlined. i wish this was better than it is, it honestly drags on for too long and if i were to rewrite it now i'd make a lot of changes but nonetheless i hope you enjoy it!!

“Harry, save me,” Louis groans from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, limbs starfished as he lies in an ocean of text books.

  


“Stop being so dramatic,” Harry says without averting his look from his own textbook, shutting up Louis’s incoherent whines by grabbing the nearest pillow off the bed and throwing it at him. He keeps his focus on the paragraph he’s reading, circling some words he needs to go back to, but hears the distinctive sound of the pillow landing. It’s followed by a string of muttered curses spilling through the room in Louis’s high voice.

  


“ _Fucking twat_ ,” Louis hisses at him and flings the pillow in the general direction of where Harry’s perched on the bed to his right. The pillow makes it halfway to its target before it falls onto the floor again. Louis groans and kicks his foot out, hitting  the pillow and watching it bounce closer to the bed before he crawls up on his elbows and leans back on them. “I’m a drama major, what am I supposed to be if not dramatic.”

  


“Well you sure live up to it,” Harry says, still only paying half a mind to the conversation occurring.

  


Louis’s reply comes in the form of a deep sigh, his chest deflating as he slumps and throws his head back, pinning his stare on the ceiling.  “Harry,” he says again, his voice just as impatient as a minute ago.

  


“What is it?” Harry humors him, knowing that when Louis gets like this he’s going to end up giving in sooner or later anyway.

  


“Write it for me.”

  


“No.”

  


“Well, _why not_?” Louis cries out, raising his eyebrows in a question. He’s being stubborn as usual and Harry wishes he didn’t find it as endearing as he does.

  


“Because I still have a year before I have to write my own dissertation and because I don’t study drama, I can’t write about whatever it is you’re writing about.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air as he speaks, running it in circles. Despite only being in his second year, unlike Louis and Zayn who are both third years, he already has a mountain of work to tackle.

  


“An in-depth analysis of the homoeroticism in Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_ , you mean,” Louis replies and Harry can practically hear him rolling his eyes from across the room.

  


“Yes, _that._ ” Louis snorts and mutters something under his breath. Probably an insult.

  


“Honestly, though, why did you pick something you don’t care for? It’s not like this is what you’re gonna be doing for most of your year or anything, Lou.”

  


“I _do_ care. It’s very interesting, I just-” he cuts off to release the pressure on his elbows, landing on the floor again with a loud groan and a sound _thump_ that echoes through the room. “It’s so much work. _So much._ ”

  


“Well, I can’t really help you there, love,” Harry says, finally closing his textbook and placing it on the bed before looking over at Louis. Their eyes lock and Harry gives him a small smile, Louis’s lips twitching into one in reply. He nods his head in invitation, mouthing _come here_ and Harry scrambles off the bed a second later. He walks over to Louis and places himself next to him on the floor. They’re lying close enough that their fingers keep brushing as Harry shuffles around to find a comfortable position. He pretends he doesn’t notice the small contact, as if the warmth spreading through his body and the sparks flickering to life with every touch, with every brush of fingers is a mere coincidence.

  


“Hi,” he says, turning his head so he’s facing Louis, their faces only inches apart. Lying this close together he can hear Louis’s breathing turn ragged, small puffs of air coming out in tune to his loud heartbeat.

  


“Hi,” Louis replies, a hint of a smile on his face. The words are quiet, but they flow through Harry and stick to his skin, the shade of Louis’s voice so clear in the echoing silence of the room.

  


It’s still early in the day, the sun still up in the sky, shining down on them with its flickering light. They’re lying so it casts streaks of brightness over their faces, Louis’s features illuminated. Like this Harry can see how prominent the bags under his eyes are, their blue tint making them stand out against the rest of his skin. They make him look tired, his normally beaming face sinking.

  


Harry let’s his eyes wander, taking in Louis as a whole - His hair’s a mess, usually sculpted fringe now unruly strands standing up in different directions from how much he’s been running his fingers through them. He’s wearing trackies and a ratty t-shirt, the clothes sagging on his thin frame. He looks as if he’s barely hanging on, his outer layer slowly breaking apart.

  


Harry brings his hand up to trace over Louis’s forehead, smoothing out the worry lines that have formed there. He runs his thumb over them once, twice, before moving it over the arch of his eyebrows and down the slope of his nose and bopping him on it. Louis laughs at that, visibly relaxing as his cheeks are pushed upwards by the soft smile overtaking his face.

  


“I’m sorry for being an idiot. You know I’d help you more if I could,” Harry says, his words coming out barely above a whisper. “Maybe we could run some scenes over again? I could be the Bassanio to your Antonio.” He waggles his eyebrows, making Louis’s lips stretch into a smile again.

  


“It’s okay, babe. I’m sorry for complaining so much, it’s just a lot of work.”

  


“Well, the offer to run lines still stands, I hope you know that,” Harry replies, bringing a hand down to run through Louis’s fringe. His hair is getting long, the strands erratic and messy. He swipes it to the side, moving it out of Louis’s eyes and brushes his fingers over his forehead before he places his hand on the space on the floor in between their bodies again.

  


“I’d take you up on it, but I’ve seen you act, y’know.”

  


“ _Hey,_ don’t be mean,” he says, dragging out the first word and punching Louis lightly on the shoulder. It’s an awkward angle with both of them still lying next to each other on the floor, but Louis rubs his shoulder in mock offence anyway, shooting Harry a disgruntled look. “I’m a great actor.”

  


“Oh, come off it, your mum’s shown me your kindergarten productions. I particularly fancied the maths play. Must say that you made for a very unconvincing question mark, though.”

  


“ _Unconvincing?_ ” Harry splutters, his eyes widened in shock. “What would you say makes a question mark convincing?”

  


Louis laughs and with every noise leaving his mouth he seems to be relaxing further and further, the tension in his body slowly seeping out. “You didn’t look very questioning, y’know, rubbing your chin as you gazed out into the audience with a confused look on your face and all of that.”

  


“Oh yes, I’m sure that would’ve done it,” Harry says sarcastically, scrunching his eyebrows together and throwing Louis a sceptical look. “I _made_ that kindergarten production, I’m the sole reason it got renewed for another year.”

  


“Considering the play consisted of three to five year olds in costumes, holding up signs for the parents to show that they knew how to count, I would say it would’ve been renewed with or without your star performance,” Louis replies dryly, but his voice is laced with laughter, the teasing tone picked up on by Harry.

  


“Just admit that I’m not as bad of an actor as you think I am,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

  


“ _Anyway_ ,” Louis says, ignoring Harry’s comment, “Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree then, love, can’t find me making false claims with a soul as pure as mine.” Louis arches his eyebrows, a playful smirk creeping over his face at the words.

  


Harry barks a laugh out, feeling it being ripped out of his body with the intensity of it. His cheeks puff up his face and he can feel his dimples emerging in tune to the sounds spilling from his mouth. “I’m glad you’re confident enough to make that kind of a statement.”

  


“What’s _that_ supposed to mean,” Louis says, his words sharp but he still looks fond with the tightlipped smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards.

  


“ _Nothing_ ,” Harry singsongs as he shuffles forward, closing the gap between their bodies. He nuzzles into Louis’s side, rubbing his face in the crook where his neck meets his shoulders. His hair tickles Louis who lets out a small giggle, but Harry just moves closer, practically purring at the contact. “Hold me, Lou,” he mumbles into his neck and Louis wraps a hesitant arm around his shoulders, pressing him closer to him.

  


“That good?” he asks, his voice low.

  


Harry just hums in reply, blinking his closed eyes open. “You’re the best, thank you,” he murmurs and surges up, giving Louis a wet kiss on the cheek. It shatters the tranquility of the moment, the stillness being stirred. Louis lets out an indignant squeak in reply to the movement, jostling Harry as he pulls away. The smacking sound rings loud in comparison to their hushed whispers from seconds ago and it nestles itself into Harry’s mind, playing on a loop that goes on and on.

  


“Control yourself, you fucking animal,” Louis hisses as he brings a hand up to wipe at his cheek, a disgusted look on his face. He tries shuffling backwards as Harry closes the distance between their bodies slowly, the two of them remaining intense eye contact the entire time.

  


“You love it, though,” Harry says and Louis’s protesting is quickly cut short when Harry, in one swift motion, hurls their bodies close so their chests are flush together and digs his fingers into Louis’s side. He screams out as Harry starts tickling him, his fingers running across the expanse of his body.

  


He bats at Harry’s chest, trying to get him away from him, but Harry has a strong grip on Louis’s smaller frame and he stands no real chance. Louis keeps squirming underneath him, his laughs and shrieks ringing clear in Harry’s ears from how closely they’re pinned together. He pretends it doesn’t make his heart beat twice as fast as he keeps tickling Louis, the two of them rolling around in a pile on the bedroom floor, their voices echoing across the room.

  


+

  


Harry met Louis when he was a scrawny eighteen year old just starting off his first year of uni. He’d moved in the week before and the only people he really knew besides his roommate were Niall and Liam, whose room was across the hall from theirs. The three of them had quickly come together, navigating through the question marks that came with new surroundings. They got along well and it was comforting having someone else who was just as confused as he was about being on their own for the first time.

  


At the end of fresher’s week their hall held a big party, one where everyone got a bit too drunk to remember who they hooked up with and woke up with a pounding headache the next day, already regretting everything from the previous night.

  


Halfway through he’d found himself talking to Louis - this blue eyed, energetic boy who seemed to be made of lightning and had Harry’s hazy world spin faster. They’d flirted back and forth, the words slipping off their tongues slowly, dripping with an undercurrent of charm as they learned enough about each other for the conversation to flow easily. At one point they’d been plastered close, their lips seconds away from locking in a kiss when Zayn had interrupted and quickly brought them both out of their bubble.

  


It wasn’t really until a week later that he saw Louis again and had the chance to stutter out an apology (“Sorry about the other night, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. If I did, I wouldn’t have, _y’know._ ” “ Boyfriend?” “Um, yeah, that guy that dragged you away. Black hair up in a quiff, brown eyes.” And at that Louis had just laughed, explaining in between laughter that Zayn was _most definitely_ not his boyfriend, that they were just best mates and that he was very much single, which he had tacked on with a wink and smirk).

  


After their semi-awkward conversation in the coffee shop the two of them had ended up exchanging numbers and quickly became friends. They clicked right away, as if there was this unspoken bond pulling them together, their minds working in synchronization and making them understand each other on a whole new level. Sure, Harry had close friends back home and he fancied himself being fairly close to Niall and Liam as well but with Louis it was just _different_. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but they clicked in a way he’d never experienced before.

  


They seamlessly drifted into each other’s lives, claiming a space that had been left unoccupied until then. It was easy. A lot easier than Harry had thought it to be. Their halls were close and they managed to spend as much time together as they could in between classes and coursework. Harry quickly became friends with Zayn as well and any confusion he might’ve had about Zayn and Louis dating washed away once they met. Zayn just laughed at the story, not the least bit bothered by it.

  


All in all, it seemed to be working out fine. Their groups of friends quickly molded together and the five of them drifted into a unit. And sure, they were all close, more close than most friends were, but Harry and Louis were always a bit different, even right from the start. It was if there was an invisible barrier separating them from the rest of the group, this thing that stated that what the two of them had wasn’t quite within the borders of the other friendships.

  


They never really spoke about that night, the one where they met. They’d use it as a the punchline of a joke (“At least your standards aren’t low.") or as the story of how they met, but never as something more than that. There was never a serious discussion about what that had entitled, or what it could’ve entitled and Harry always wondered if he wished there would’ve been one.

  


Maybe, in the beginning, when their friendship was still new, he’d let himself indulge in the thought of the two of them becoming something more down the line, but as their friendship grew stronger and time progressed he realized it wouldn’t happen. He still found Louis pretty - the way his cheekbones created sharp lines across his face, the dip of his lower back, the way his long eyelashes would fan over his cheeks when he blinked - but it was fine. Maybe he’d let himself believe they could have all of the different things he envisioned in his head - kisses, sex, dates - but he soon realized that while their friendship held a place for cuddles and affection, it didn’t hold a place for any of the rest and it was fine. Really.

  


+

  


A couple of days later Harry finds himself walking towards the on-campus dining hall after getting a text in the middle of class from Louis telling him to come meet up with them for a quick bite to eat. He’d lit up as his eyes had skimmed the few words of the text, a smile unconsciously breaking out over his face. Behind him the teacher’s voice was booming across the room, seeping into every corner and bouncing off the walls as he spoke of things far less interesting than the prospect of seeing _Louis_ again.

  


Harry hitches his bag further up his shoulder as he makes his way out of the building after class, navigating through the herd of students. They’re all rushing with their books clutched tight to their chests, trying to make it in time for their different classes. Their faces are painted with looks of panic and behind their glassy eyes there’s a million thoughts spinning that he can’t make out. He wonders what they think about as they bump shoulders with strangers in the sea of students. He wonders if it’s about school, exams, papers to write or if they, like Harry, have colors of blue flooding their minds as they walk along the cobblestones. Hearing the quick patter of their feet hitting the ground, almost like the beat to an unknown song, _onetwothree onetwothree_ , makes Harry feel oddly calm and relaxed in comparison.

  


He makes it down the steps of the building and turns to his left, following the path. He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and plugs his headphones in, scrolling through the songs he has on it. His fingers are already cold from the small amount of time he’s spent outside, his body not used to it after two hours inside in the warmth of the classroom. He presses play on a [ song  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VVp-tKqFNY)and lets the music spill through the headphones and into his ears, the melody spreading through his body as the song goes on. The soft guitar playing relaxes him as he keeps making his way forward and as the drums fade into the background he picks up his pace, matching it to the beat of the song.

  


Small bits of snow are crunching underneath his boots, the last remains of winter lingering in the cold air. The trees are still bare, a faint reminder of the leaves that once covered them. February is fading out slowly and with it it’s taking the white dust speckled across the benches lining the path. They echo cold without the presence of a body to heat them up, to make them stand out against their muted surroundings. The snow is a grey now, the little white that’s left shining through with the sun making its way over it. It sparkles in the afternoon air, catching Harry’s attention.

  


He misses it in a way - the winter, the holidays, last term. Because before the snow entered he could still put his work off to spend hours playing Fifa with the lads or slack off - spending too many hours doing nothing, the feeling of having options long gone with the changing of the seasons. He’d marvel in the opportunities that came with a new year, still drunk on the sunshine and the summer’s warmth inked onto his skin. They all were, with the way they’d go out drinking and stumble home too late for time to still make sense. They’d grip onto each other tight, their minds swimming from the alcohol running through their veins, trying to keep each other close with fingers around wrists and hands under shirts. It had meant so little then, the days blurring together, but now it means everything, he thinks. It’s a memory fading, but he still remembers it in as bright colors as the day it had occurred.

  


He rounds the last corner, finding himself in front of the dining hall, a big building towering above him and making him feel small in comparison. He fiddles with his hands in his pockets as he takes the final couple of steps towards it, following a big group of students all talking animatedly in front of him. Their voices come out muffled against the music beating through his ears, but he still hears snippets of conversation that get lost in the words of the song. He usually loves listening in on strangers conversations, loves the way you’re able to catch glimpses of someone’s life through the words they speak and the topics that paint their tongues, but today there’s a tiredness settled into his bones. One he can’t seem to shake enough to find interest in strangers and their lives.

  


He pauses his music, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and unwinding his scarf as he follows the big group into the building. He unzips his jacket as he walks inside and is hit with the room’s warmth, letting it soak through the thin layers of his clothing and heat him up.

  


The dining hall is littered with students. They sit at the tables, some of them in groups, while others are by themselves with a book in hand or a computer in front of them, munching on a lone sandwich while they enjoy their solitude. There’s the hustle of cutlery against cheap plates and conversations and voices nestling together and creating loud sounds that spill through the door as Harry walks inside.

  


His eyes roam the room, jumping from table to table quickly until he spots them. They, Louis and Zayn, are sat by a table in the middle of the room. They’re sitting opposite each other, immersed in conversation while they eat their lunch, paying little attention to the people surrounding them and Harry quickly makes his way over, zigzagging between the tables before he reaches theirs.

  


“Harry, mate!” Zayn greets him when he spots Harry rounding their table and plopping down in the seat next to Louis.

  


“How you been? Haven’t seen you in a while,” Zayn continues, a smile on his face as Harry dumps his bag on the empty chair next to him and starts shucking his jacket off, draping it across the back of his chair.

  


“Could say the same about you,” he replies once he’s finally rid himself off his outerwear and is left only wearing his brown jumper. He pulls the sleeves down so they’re wrapped over his knuckles and hunches his shoulders in hope of savoring some of the warmth trapped inside the room.

  


“Third year’s hell, can barely remember what it’s like to not study all the time,” Zayn says with an honest shrug. Harry and Louis both laugh but it comes out weak with too much of an undercurrent of a bitter _i know what it’s like_ to it.

  


“Tell me about it, that dissertation will be the death of me,” Louis groans and Harry turns to him as he speaks, pinning his stare on Louis’s profile. There’s a big window behind him, one of those old ones that takes up an entire wall and looks like it belongs in a church with its shape and the air of _antique_ surrounding it. The sun is shining through it, the last of it before the clock ticks toward evening and the dark takes its place. It shines bright, if a bit weak and paints Louis’s face in shades of yellow. It illuminates the slope of his nose and the stubble that dusts his jaw and makes him look older, more mature, than he is.

  


“Just don’t go jumping out of any windows, will you,” Harry says and nudges Louis’s shoulder with his own. The small contact jostles Louis who draws back a bit in surprise before turning to Harry. When their eyes meet, Harry gives him a smug smirk to accentuate his words and Louis rolls his eyes and mumbles a _fuck off._ Harry chuckles, the dimples on his cheeks emerging, his eyes turning soft as he looks at Louis.

  


They haven’t seen each other in a few days but the circles underneath Louis’s eyes seem more prominent than Harry remembers, the look on his face more exhausted than ever. There’s worry lines brushed across his face, his normally soft features turned sharp. His eyes no longer hold crinkles by them, a dull grey in their place as Louis’s stare seems cold, even distant, despite there being little space between their bodies, the two of them physically as close as can be. It’s like he’s there but his mind is still spinning and he’s got half a presence somewhere else, wherever his thoughts seem to take him.  

  


Harry scoots his chair closer to Louis’s and slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. Louis lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat at the contact but quickly melts into Harry’s touch. He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry leans down to plant a kiss on to his forehead. He lingers for a beat, the warmth of Louis’s skin against his lips comforting, a reminder of how the two of them just fit, how it’s always been them and how it still is.

  


“Missed you,” he mumbles and Louis scrunches his face together and looks up at Harry, his eyes blinking open slowly. His eyelashes flutter, framing his eyes as they connect through the look they share.

  


“Missed you too, love.”

  


“You okay?” Harry asks, preparing himself for the lie Louis’s about to tell. They’ve been friends long enough for him to recognize every tense line in Louis’s shoulders, every intake of breath that’s breaching on something else, every sentence that comes out a bit too stifled. So he’s not surprised by the words that end up spilling through Louis’s mouth, not really.

  


“Yeah, yeah, just busy, you know. Got a lot to do,” he says with a sweeping motion of his hand, brushing off Harry’s words as quickly as they’d been uttered. He isn’t making eye contact any more, his stare having had wandered off somewhere into the distance, fixated on something behind Harry.

  


“I know, I’ve barely seen you lately, where’ve you been hiding.” Harry tries to make it come off as casual, tries to keep his voice light but it betrays him and it breaks on the last word, ending in a small hiccup. He feels exposed, his words raw, in the way his emotions are painted so clearly across the words he speaks.

  


Louis smiles up at him, his eyes refocusing on Harry and bringing a hand to poke at Harry’s cheek where his dimple is hiding. “Nowhere, love. Just got a shit load of stuff to do, you’ll see how it is next year.”

  


“‘S not like I haven’t got any work myself,” he mutters under his breath, but keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself. They seem too private to voice out loud so recklessly. They’re more safe in the compartments of his mind, anyway. _I’d still make time for you though._

  


“Hey, don’t be like that, Harry, we’ll hang out as soon as I get a spare second, alright,” Louis says, stroking his cheek and prodding at it until Harry forces a smile. His dimples appear and Louis’s sticks his thumb in one of them and laughs, the sound light. It floats through the air towards Harry where they’re mere inches apart and it dulls out the rest of the noises in the room, reducing them to background static.

  


“I promise,” Louis says, his eyes staring intently into Harry’s own, a string of electricity tying them together, invisible to anyone but the two of them.

  


Harry hums in reply and squeezes Louis’s shoulder again, digging his nails into the fabric of his sweater to make sure he feels the motion. He tries to make it speak of comfort and _i’ll always be here for you_ even though he can see that Louis’s back to talking to Zayn, only using Harry as a prop to lean his weight on. He hopes Louis’s still gets it, gets everything Harry’s too weak to say out loud.

  


+

  


Harry doesn’t see anyone around until a few weeks later when they all decide to meet up for a pint at the uni pub down the street from campus, something the five of them haven’t done in ages.

  


(“C’mon, Harry, you’ve barely been around lately. I bloody live with you, and still I never see you,” Niall whines. He’s got a sincere look on his face, his usually happy glow dimmed out. “ _Please_ ,” he pleads, even adding a ridiculous clasp of his hands as he walks over to Harry, begging him to join them. And who’s Harry to say no to Niall’s widened puppy eyes and honest words.

  


When he reluctantly agrees Niall tackles him in a big hug, his arms wrapping around Harry’s shoulders and it’s the happiest he’s seen him all week, Harry thinks.)  
  
It’s been a busy week, as all of them seem to be this time of year, with papers to write, classes to attend and facts to memorize. February is slowly seeping into March and it’s the time of year for breakdowns. It’s finally hitting people that it’s the last term and they all deal with it differently. Some drown themselves in work, never quite emerging from the surface until the sun is peeking its head out again while some choose to ignore it and go to too many parties, the alcohol never leaving their systems.

  


Harry can tell that it’s starting to get to his head a bit in the way he’s more worked up than he usually is, his energy never quite carrying for as long as it did before and there’s the constant loop of everything he needs to do running through his mind. In a way he’s used to it, because he’s never struggled in school, not before and not now. He knows how to keep his thoughts organized, separating them from each other and always keeping track of the to-do list writing itself inside his brain. Everytime he finishes a task, there’s a distinct swooshing sound going through it as yet another thing gets crossed off the list.

  


All in all, he’s managing. He’s been through it before and knows how his body is going to react. He knows to take a lot of naps whenever he can - during his free periods, in the library when his eyelids are drooping or when Niall asks him to head to the boys’ room but every bone in his body is aching. He ends up getting so immersed in his own routine - the do’s and don'ts of how to make it through the final months - that he sometimes let’s days pass without talking to Louis, the one person that’s always a constant in his day to day life. It’s a first for them, but Harry just writes it off as Louis being as busy as he is.  
  
He isn’t really seeing any of the boys besides Niall, but the few times he manages to catch Zayn on campus they’re both in between classes, their pace a bit too fast to come off as relaxed. They never talk much, it’s mainly small talk in form of you _how you beens_ and short, clipped off answers. Their conversation is rushed, both of them trying to not be late while trying to fill each other in on their respective lives as much as they can. Harry asks about Louis, because of course he does, and Zayn tells him Louis isn’t sleeping well, that he stays up all night downing cup after cup of coffee to keep himself awake, his skin constantly buzzing with the caffeine in his veins. Apparently he’s been skipping meals, always rushing in between activities - trying to make himself do more than he’s capable of. Zayn’s been leaving food out but unless he’s there to force feed him he says that Louis doesn’t touch it. Both of them have seen Louis get like this - too worked up to properly function - and they all know it’s coming, that his skin is shedding layer after layer, until he breaks down and is left in nothing but his hollow bones.

  


Zayn doesn’t say hes worried for him, but its all there in the way he carries his words and the way his eyes plead for Harry to do something, to get him back somehow. Harry tries not to think about it too much and instead he adds _talk to louis_ to the growing list in his head, telling himself he’ll get around to it soon.  
  
So it takes them them a while to get together, all five of them with their schedules and routines that don’t match up.  
  
It’s still in the middle of the week when they do manage to meet, but despite that the place is fairly packed for the weekly pub quiz. People are sat by almost every table to the point that it’d been a struggle to find a table large enough for all five of them when they’d arrived, their usual one already taken.  
  
They’re a good hour in now, all of them already having had downed a round of pints and are packed together in a booth in the back, near the small stage where the questions are being announced from. There’s a guy in his mid 20s standing by the microphone, reading from a list of questions. His voice is monotone, the words being pushed out of his body as it seems to take all of his willpower to not roll his eyes every five seconds. Harry’s guessing this isn’t his normal gig, considering the enthusiasm and all.

  
Despite that, the atmosphere is buzzing with the vibrations of people’s voices carrying through the small place, raising up up up until they’re plastered to the ceiling, never escaping until someone opens the door of the pub and they soar out into the chilly night, creating echos on the quiet street outside.

  


“ _How many seasons does the E! hit ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’ currently have?”_

  


The sound coming from the microphone is accompanied by a string of static that pierces through their ears, a collective groan being uttered by the room. The guy rushes out an apology as fast as he can in his slow drawl and everyone returns to their tables, the teams huddling together as arms are extended in big gestures during the debate of the right answer.

  


“Oh, I know that one, ‘s ten,” Niall says offhandedly over the rim of his beer before he tips his head back and takes a long gulp, downing half of it in one go.

  


“ _What_ ,” he says once he puts his glass down and is met with four curious stares. “It’s a good show.” He shrugs and everyone bursts out laughing at the same time, the different sounds mixing together from around the small table they’re sat at.

  


“Of course you watch _the Kardashians_ , mate,” Louis says, the rest of his laughter coming out in small bursts as he tries to settle down.  He brings a hand to cover his mouth, his fingers resting against his skin, but the noises still slip through them.

  


“Oi, don’t shame me for enjoying quality television,” Niall snaps and points a finger to Louis, one of his eyebrows arched. “I know you love reality tv, don’t tell me you don’t watch _Masterche_ f religiously.”

  


“Of course I do, Niall, doesn’t _everyone_ watch _Masterchef_?”

  


“‘S a bit weird, mate, I mean you can’t cook for shit,” Zayn interferes, his comment thrown out offhandedly into their space. His eyes are still trained on his phone where he’s typing out a message to someone, not bothering to look up from the screen.

  


“I’m sorry, are you actually disagreeing with me about national treasure that is Gordon Ramsey,” Louis stutters, his hands flying out as they do when he’s being overly dramatic, his voice rising and his gestures increasing.

  


“I quite fancy Jamie Oliver myself. More fit, you know,” Niall says with a shrug, his beer still intact in his hand. He’s on his second one while the rest of them are still making their way through their first ones. He always ends up drinking twice as much, yet he never goes home the most drunk. It’s amazing really, his Irish genes something for the scientist to study, Harry thinks.

  


“Niall, you’re straight,” Louis deadpans, his eyebrows arched and his look aimed straight at Niall.

  


“Not blind though, am I.”

  


He manages to look serious for a total of two seconds before they’re all laughing again, Niall slumping forward and giving Louis a light tap on the shoulder which Louis returns with a punch straight in the stomach and soon the two of them have broken into a small wrestling fight. They aren’t doing anything, their hands mainly being used to tweak the other one’s nipples and to slap the other one with words of _wanker_ and _fucker_ being thrown around, but despite that Harry and Zayn swoop in, dragging away the two of them from each other.

  


“Can you _behave,_ ” Harry says, his tone mock stern as he manhandles Louis back into the seat next to him in the booth.

  


“But, _Harry_ , Niall started it,” Louis whines, jutting his bottom lip out into a pout and batting his eyelashes at Harry. He shakes his head in response and goes to wrap an arm tight around Louis’s waist, sneaking a pinch to his hip that makes Louis jump and knock his forehead against Harry’s temple.

  


“You’re fucking impossible.”

  


“I know,” Louis retorts, a wide grin on his face as he turns around and faces Harry.

  


They’re close, Louis’s breathing fanning across Harry’s cheeks as he inhales and exhales, the puffs of air hitting Harry’s skin from the small distance between their faces. Like this Harry can pick apart every shade of the circles underneath Louis’s eyes, the colors otherwise drowned out by the muted lightning of the pub. Now they’re close enough for the blues and purples to stand out, the depth of them surprising him. Louis looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. And Harry knew this, Zayn’s words echoing somewhere in the back of his mind, but it doesn’t really hit him until he sees it for himself, until he can pick up the small thread of skin Louis’s been shredding for the past months and get a good look at it.

  


He decides that this isn’t the time though, not here, in this dingy pub packed with strangers whose voices bounce off his back and with the lads sitting close enough to pick up on the tension that would follow. _Later_ , he tells himself. He’ll do it later, in private, when they’re completely sober and can process the information properly.

  


Instead he leans up to Louis and whispers, “Let’s see if we can get Liam proper pissed, shall we,” and immediately the slow ticking of time speeds up, returning to normal. He feels Louis exhale from where they’re pressed together and hears him let out a small laugh that sounds the slightest bit shaky.

  


He quickly covers it up by clearing his throat and Harry can practically see the facade going back up, the shield Louis sometimes puts up when he gets like this - distant and cold - as he turns to Harry and knocks their foreheads together and whispers a quiet, “ _Let’s do it._ ”

  


+

  


The weeks that follow carry on the same way - Louis studies, he doesn’t sleep, drinks endless amount of coffee and Harry barely sees him. He immerses himself in his own work, tries not to let the distance get to him, tries not to be affected by the way he only sees Louis in passing, their conversations never crossing the five minute mark. How they went from speaking every day for hours, from being so codependent they had to endure jokes about molding into one, to how there’s a void in Harry’s life with Louis’s name written on it.

  


He misses him. He misses how’d they spend all of their time together. Misses the way Louis would call him every day and speak to him about his day. Misses the way both of them would share mundane details and the way they’d sometimes fall asleep together, their bodies curled around each other. He misses _Louis_ with his big presence, the energy that would bounce off the walls and swoop over Harry, making him grin just as wide and talk just as big as Louis did. He misses his sharp jokes and sharp tone, but how he’d still contrast it with the soft side he held reserved for Harry. How he’d always support him, always encourage him in every decision he took. He misses the way Louis was always just _there_ , how there was an unspoken agreement of _them_ and how it seems to have been broken in the past few months.

  


He just really misses his best friend.

  


+

  


They’re having one of their impromptu movie nights a few weeks later when Harry finds out.

  


It’s not the news that hit him the hardest - it’s that he didn’t know and that everyone else seems to. He knows they didn’t not tell him on purpose. He knows they probably meant to, but that he wasn’t there the first or second time it got mentioned and therefore missed out. He knows they aren’t bringing it up for him to feel a breath being trapped inside his chest. He knows it isn’t intended to be a jab at him for not being around. He _knows_ all of this but it doesn’t mean that his mind slows down or his breathing comes out any easier.

  


“What are you talking about?” he asks as slowly as time seems to be moving. The fast paced conversation, the quick banter thrown back and forth, has come to a stop and they’re all staring at him. He tries to make out the emotions hidden behind their eyes. It’s not pity, it’s something else, but their eyes are glossy with the same set of emotions swimming through them and he’s too tired to look for answers to questions he didn’t ask.

  


“Me and Lou, we’re going away, Harry.” _Oh_ . “It’s just for the summer, really. Got that internship lined up for autumn, but yeah, we’ll go for as long as we can, we figured,” Zayn says, but the end of his sentence comes out as a question, as if this plan to go away, to _leave_ so abruptly after graduation, is something they thought of on a whim. Something one of them threw into the air one night when they were sat in their room and as if it doesn’t turn Harry’s entire world around, as it doesn’t make it spin to a different beat.

  


“Where to?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm and collected. He hopes it doesn’t sound as shaky to their ears as it does to his own, hopes he isn’t showing how much this is affecting him.

  


“Everywhere, really. Gonna backpack through Europe and see all of it.” Zayn gives a small laugh, the tension in the air slowly diffusing, the others visibly relaxing as he starts talking about the places they want to visit, the things they want to see. He’s rattling off places  Harry’s never even heard of, Liam and Niall jumping in to ask questions that only spur Zayn on further. There’s this glow to him like this - when he’s talking about something he genuinely cares for. It’s the same one he gets when he’s asked about a book or an art project of his - he just lights up, his eyes brightening and his face breaking into an unknown smile as he speaks.

  


“There’s this amazing museum in- Ah, fuck, I can’t remember the city. Hold on,” he says, jumping up from the floor and going over to his desk, where he starts rummaging through the various books and papers he’s got littered on top.

  


“Lou, do you know where we left the travel book, you know the one my mum got us?” Zayn asks, still navigating through the mess without turning around to face them.

  


Harry looks over to Louis who’s sat on the floor, his back against Zayn’s bed. He’s curled in on himself, hugging his knees tightly to his chest with his arms wrapped securely around them, his eyes locked on the floor in front of him. He seems to be lost in thought, Zayn’s words not breaking through the walls of his mind.

  


“Never mind, I got it,” Zayn says a few seconds later and returns to his former spot with a book in his hand. Niall and Liam lean in as he opens it to a bookmarked page and starts showing them something, his fingers traveling across the page as he reads out loud.

  


The others are still immersed in the conversation, not picking up on Harry’s absence from it. He briefly wonders if he could excuse himself, if he could come up with a lie about how he forgot he had a study group to attend or if it would be too obvious. Maybe he could just walk away - get up and leave through the door - without any of them picking up on. Maybe he could. But he still decides not to - he doesn’t want to have to go through the follow up questions that it would surely ensue.

  


Louis’s being quiet as well, still sitting by himself, with his eyes locked in front of him. Harry doesn’t know for how long he’s been sat like that, didn’t really notice when the switch came - when he went from loud and the center of the conversation to quiet and drawn back. He remembers earlier in the night, when they were bickering about which movie to watch and Louis’s voice had carried high above the other’s, his words coming out the most clear and his sharp tone breaking through the other four.

  


Him being so drawn back, they way he is now, is a stark contrast to how he usually is and Harry wonders what changed. He wonders when _they_ changed - when he went from feeling as if he could wrap his arms around Louis and whisper _what’s wrong_ into his ear and feel the other boy relax in his grip and tell him, to being sat on different ends of the room, their minds spinning at different paces, different questions being asked.

  


+

  


That night there’s a sharp knock on his door. The motion is repeated once, twice in quick succession. Niall’s at work and a brief glance at his phone tells Harry he isn’t supposed to be back for hours. He let’s out a deep sigh as he closes his laptop and goes to drag himself across the room, his curiosity getting the best of him.

  


The knocking starts back up again and he groans an _i’m coming_ as he walks up to the door and opens it, not bothering to check who it is.

  


“Hi,” Louis squeaks once Harry opens up and their eyes meet. He sounds hesitant, a bit shy, as he gives Harry a small wave before quickly dropping his hand and stuffing it back into the pocket of his hoodie.

  


“Hey,” Harry replies slowly. He’s a bit surprised to see Louis standing there. He looks so unguarded like this - in his trackies and hoodie, his entire presence speaking of soft. His hair is unstyled, his fringe lying flat against his forehead and his eyes are the color of water on a warm summer’s day, unlike the icy cold they’ve been painted lately.

  


“Can I come in?” he asks, peeking his hand out again to vaguely gesture behind Harry at the room.

  


“Yeah, of course,” Harry mumbles as he stands up straight and opens the door wide for Louis to walk through. He gives Harry a small smile and a nod in gratitude as he passes him.

  


Harry tries not to think about when they started having to ask each other to enter the room, when they started knocking instead of just walking inside. When they stopped spending so much time in each other’s rooms they stopped being their second homes. When the distance between them stretched itself so wide.

  


“So, what’s up?” Harry asks after closing the door behind him. After a beat he crosses his arms across his chest, not knowing what to do with them. With every passing second the awkward tension in the air seems to grow thicker. With every spoken word, with every hesitant action, it just takes up more of the space between them, separating them further.

  


“Oh, I just wanted to hang out, you know,” Louis says, shifting his stare from where it’d been looking out through to the window over to Harry. Their eyes lock for a brief moment before he averts his gaze and starts walking through the room until he settles on the bed. He picks his feet up off the ground and crosses them. “S’ been a while, hasn’t it? Just thought we could hang out,” he repeats himself, the words still coming out as thin as seconds ago.

  


Harry knows that Louis isn’t here to _hang out_ as he puts it, knows they haven’t casually spent time together in over a month and that he’s acting far too weird for that to be the reason for his visit. But he also knows Louis and he isn’t going to talk if you push him, you have to let him tell you himself. So instead of pressing for a real explanation, Harry gives a shrug and says, “Well, I was just about to watch something if you’re up for that?”

  


“Yeah, sure,” Louis replies and gives Harry a quick smile as he goes to join him.

  


They scoot together on the small bed, making sure to not touch each other as the arrange themselves to fit in the frame, the small space between their bodies stretching itself like an ocean of distance. Harry bends forward to retrieve his laptop and opens it, the page still open to Netflix from earlier and he starts clicking around for something to watch. They don’t speak much while he does so, their conversation extending to Harry asking what Louis wants to watch and getting a non-committed reply in return. In the end he decides on _Shameless_ and asks Louis if he’s all caught up, who just nods in reply while his eyes scan the bright colors on the screen.

  


They settle in and halfway through the second episode Louis’s stomach starts growling, startling both of them, and with muffled laughter Harry picks his phone up and calls for pizza, not bothering to ask Louis what he wants on his. Years of friendship and countless pizzas shared has him rattling off the order without a second thought running through his mind. He doesn’t think anything of it until he ends the call and turns back to Louis who’s eying him curiously.

  


“What?” he asks, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. “Did you want something else?”

  


“No, it’s just, I thought you- Never mind.” Louis shakes his head, scolding himself quietly, but the smile on his lips tells Harry he isn’t mad.

  


“You sure?”

  


“Yeah, it wasn’t important.” He ends their conversation, turning back and pressing play. Harry lingers for a second and watches Louis where he’s leaning back against the pillows lined on the bed, his hands resting casually on his stomach as he zeroes in on the action unfolding on the screen. The light radiating from the computer washes his face in a soft glow, his skin smoothening out with the shades of yellow that color it.

  


He settles back in next to Louis, their arms brushing in the tight space. Neither of them makes to move away this time, keeping them pressed to each other until the pizza arrives half an hour later.

  


\--

  


“I’m Mickey, surely,” Louis says some time later. He’s got a piece of pizza in his hand, taking small bites from it as he speaks and gestures to the screen where Ian and Mickey are talking.

  


“Why aren’t I Mickey, I’m _tough_ ,” Harry replies in mock offense, his face scrunching together. An old memory of Louis from years ago flashes through his mind at lightning speed ( “ _You look like an disgruntled kitten when you do that.” “Do_ what? ” “ _That scrunchy thing, y’know.”_ ) before he blinks and it’s gone again.

  


“Harry, you made us help the cleaning lady tidy up after Liam dropped his ice cream inside last spring,” Louis counters, a smug smirk on his lips.

  


“It was our fault, why _wouldn’t_ we help her,” Harry exclaims, baffled by Louis’s response. “It’s called being a _nice human being_ , Louis.”

  


Louis laughs in reply and reaches out to pet Harry’s curls, his fingers twining in his hair as Harry nuzzles into his hand with a content look on his face. He’s just happy the tension between them has relaxed enough for Louis to feel comfortable enough to touch him again. He’s missed the way Louis’s skin feels against his, how his touches always seem to linger for a beat too long and leave Harry feeling warm.

  


“I know, love, I’m just saying I don’t think you’re quite cut out for the hard hitting life of being a criminal, s’all.”

  


Harry gives a deep sigh and Louis retrieves his hand to munch on his forgotten piece of pizza. “I guess you’re right. I don’t think think I could handle it.”

  


“Nah, you’re too nice for your own good, you’d probably just return whatever you stole,” Louis says, smiling as he takes another bite, finishing off his piece quickly.

  


“That was _once_ and I was, like, ten. You can’t still be holding that against me,” Harry says, his eyebrows shooting up as Louis starts laughing at his words, his face breaking in half from how wide his smile stretches.

  


“Oh, as if I could forget such a great story. I’ll probably re-tell it at your wedding,” Lous says, still laughing. And he probably doesn’t mean anything by it, the sentence spoken so casually, but the words still nestle themselves into Harry’s chest and press down hard, a lump forming in the back of his throat for reasons he’s too scared to face.

  


“Can’t wait,” he says dryly, hoping Louis doesn’t pick up on the change to his voice.

  


“Besides, you’re too pretty for jail,” Louis replies and shoots Harry a wink before he throws his crust into the empty pizza box and wipes his hands clean. Harry ducks his head to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks and the smile taking over his face, hoping he can get away with it.

  


\--

  


Three episodes later and a text from Niall saying he’s gonna crash at Liam’s, they finally decide to head to bed. It’s well past midnight and both of them have got classes in the morning they need to attend.

  


Harry’s just turned off his computer and is putting it on his desk when he hears Louis cough awkwardly behind him and he turns around. “Everything alright?” Harry asks as he takes in Louis sitting on the bed. He’s scratching his neck and biting on his bottom lip, obviously uncomfortable with what he’s about to say.

  


“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses with a flutter of his hand and a small shake of his head, “S’just getting a bit late, is all.” He purses his lips into a thin line and meets Harry stare, his eyes cautious.

  


“Oh, I figured you’d be staying over?” _Like you always do._

  


“Is that okay?” Louis asks hesitantly, his stare searching Harry’s face, taking it all in slowly. His eyes blink as they stayed locked on Harry’s, his eyelashes fanning up, creating patterns against his skin in the muted lightning of the room.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be.” Harry throws his hands in the air and gives him a small shrug. Louis still looks hesitant, a bit shy, but he gives in with a nod, mouthing the word _thanks_ around a small smile.

  


“Great,” Harry says a bit too enthusiastically, the smile plastered on his face coming out too big, too bright, as if he’s trying to make everything seem normal between the two and there hasn’t been a distance between them the entire night, even when they were bickering back and forth.

  


“ _Great,_ ” Louis mimics, his face contorting into a funny look, one that speaks of how obvious Harry’s actions are, but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he changes the subject, which Harry’s grateful for. “Zayn had a paper to finish, so it’s better not to disturb him, anyway.”

  


“It’s all working out then,” Harry says, flashing him his teeth through a smile and Louis gives a light laugh, one the seems to spill through his mouth before he’s registering it.

  


They quickly settle into bed after their brief, and mostly uncomfortable, conversation. Harry lends Louis one of his old shirts that still comes out too big, reaching mid-thigh, on Louis and they both get changed. For a second he wonders if sleeping in just his briefs and a shirt will be weird, if it’ll cause more tension but a glance behind him finds Louis folding up his jeans and placing them on Harry’s desk chair and he opts for doing the same.

  


Harry goes to turn off the lights and lock the door as Louis slides into bed, taking the spot nearest to the wall, leaving the other half bare for Harry to take. He shuffles around, his movements causing the sheets to rustle as he tries to make himself comfortable. He’s always been a fidgety sleeper, someone who tosses and turns until there’s the calming presence of another body pressed close to his to make him settle down. They’ve been sharing a bed for two years, but it still feels different, a bit stifled as Harry goes to lie down next to Louis in bed, pulling the sheets up to cover their bodies.

  


It’s like muscle memory - the way he fits his back to Louis’s chest and feels Louis’s arms wrap around his waist. Their legs tangle together, slotting themselves into place as their curves and crooks fit into each other.

  


It still doesn’t feel quite right - the wall that’s been building between them still intact, but it’s a start, he figures. They’re working on their relationship, taking creeping steps forward. Their bodies aren’t entirely relaxed, Harry aware of the way his shoulders tense up and the way his throat swallows audibly in the silence of the room. Louis’s the same way - his fingers curling inwards where they rest on Harry’s hip and his breathing controlled, the inhales and exhales too slow to come off as natural.

  


“ _I’m sorry,_ ” comes suddenly in a hushed whisper from behind Harry. Louis’s barely speaking the words. They sound so quiet, so easily lost in the silence, Harry wonders if he intended to say them out loud at all.

  


“What for,” he replies, keeping his voice just as quiet, just as much in the cocoon of warmth they’ve created where their bodies are pressed together.

  


“For not-” Louis breaks off, taking one, two breaths before he continues, “being around, I guess. I’ve been busy, and I know that’s a shit excuse but it’s just been weird, hasn’t it.” He’s not really asking, they both know the answer.

  


“I’m sorry too. Should’ve tried harder to meet, to stay in touch,” Harry mumbles. He feels bad that Louis’s been carrying around feelings of this being his fault when they’re both to blame. They’ve both been busy, both been dodging the other and using visible excuses to cover up their cowardly actions, telling themselves lies to ease up their guilty conscious.

  


“I guess we both fucked up, huh,” he tacks on with a chuckle. It comes out a bit dry but his heart is beating hard in his chest and all he can focus on is his quickening breathing.

  


“You could say that,” Louis mumbles and Harry feels him lean forward and press his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, his lips hovering above his bare skin, leaving ghost touches from where his puffs of air hit Harry.

  


“Yeah,” Harry breathes out on soft exhale, a bit of the tension leaving his body as his shoulders sag and he relaxes further into Louis’s embrace.

  


“Been proper idiots, haven’t we.”

  


“ _The worst_ ,” Harry laughs, the sounds leaving his body easier with every ticking second.

  


“Just _awful_ ,” Louis continues, an amused tint to his voice that Harry picks up on. It makes him smile into the pillow he’s got his face pressed into, makes him feel like they’re making some kind of process in this mess they’ve managed to create between muffled words and avoided stares, their thoughts too locked up for the other one to hear.

  


“ _Horrible_.”

  


They both laugh quietly, their bodies vibrating with the sound, pressing them closer to each other, before they lapse into a content silence, the only sound in the room the one of their breathing and the clock on Harry’s nightstand.

  


After a couple of minutes Harry touches Louis’s arm on his waist, a faint brush of fingers to the crook of his elbow, pushing at it slightly so he can move. Louis hums and retrieves his hand, dragging it across the expanse of skin where Harry’s shirt has ridden up, his skin warm against Harry’s cold, their body heat syncing together. Once Harry’s free of his grip, he turns around so he’s facing Louis instead of being pressed back against him.

  


It’s dark in the room but the curtains are drawn back and the moon’s shining in through the window, providing a bit of light to contrast the blackness of the night. He can’t make out Louis’s face properly, most of his features hidden in the shadows, but a streak of lightning illuminates the long sweep of his eyelashes and the curve of his mouth. He sees Louis’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, sees the way he’s blinking rapidly, the way his eyes have gone from their usual blue to flashes of silver.

  


Harry reaches a hand out to touch Louis’s face. It’s a soft sweep of his fingertips against Louis’s cheek, tracing his prominent cheekbone up, up until he reaches Louis’s temple where he presses two of his fingers down and starts gently massaging the skin there, pressing hard enough for it to have a calming effect. Louis flutters his eyes shut, the sharp lines of his face visibly smoothing out as he relaxes into the touch. His lips part, but no sound is made.

  


He eases up on his touch and drags his fingers into Louis’s hair, the strands brushing through his fingers like the sand on a beach being swept up by a tidal wave - softly, with each grain being dissolved into the ocean that takes it under. He runs them down the slope of Louis’s neck, his fingernails scraping against skin, leaving marks as he brushes them over his strong shoulders and down his back, tracing Louis’s spine with the tips of his fingers before settling a hand on his lower back, right above where the shirt has bunched up. He can practically feel the warmth of Louis’s naked skin from how close his hand is resting, knows that if he wanted to he could just swoop his hand down a bit further and hide it under the fabric, but he doesn’t.

  


Harry uses their tangled feet to pull Louis’s closer to him, closing the small gap that’d been created when he’d turned around, and pulls Louis into a hug.

  


They haven’t hugged like this in months, but it feels like years - tight and secure, their bodies becoming one, touching from shoulders to toes, engulfing each other in the warmth radiating off their skin.

  


Harry’s pressing his arms around Louis’s smaller frame, leaving finger prints on his back from the intensity of the hug. He’s trying to wrap him up in his arms, cover all of him so that there’s just one of them, instead of two separate bodies with two separate minds and heartbeats. It’s easier when it’s _them_ , always has been.

  


Some time later when they’re both on the brink of sleep, their eyelids drooping and their breathing evening out, having had become a thin line instead of static jumps, Louis nuzzles further into Harry’s neck, his lips moving across Harry’s skin as he asks, “Are we okay?”

  


Harry opens his previously closed eyes and fixes them on the wall, his entire world hazy with sleep as he mumbles back, “Of course we are.”

  


Louis sniffles and gives a small nod, his chin dragging across Harry’s neck once, twice before it stills and he can feel the press of Louis’s lips against his skin. It’s a brief kiss, barely lasts a moment before he’s retrieving his mouth. His body sags seconds later and Harry knows he’s fallen asleep in his arms.

  


He thinks about how he can still feel Louis’s lips on his skin, the warmth that brief moment had omitted, how he’ll carry it around with him now, store it in the part of his brain where he locks up the things he’s too afraid to linger on. He thinks about how they should be okay now. The air’s been cleared, their apologizes have been made and the seasons are moving along, dragging summer closer with every day. But even as he thinks the words, he knows they aren’t okay. Knows that he’ll still feel the heavy tug at his heart when he sees Louis, when they speak, and when they breathe the same air. He knows they can’t return to the _before_ they once shared and that night their heartbeats never sync together, no matter how close their bodies are pressed.

  


+

  


“L _ads!”_ Louis shouts as he flings the door open and strides into the room where Liam, Zayn and Harry are currently sitting. The door bounces off the wall with a startling sound as Louis enters, Niall following close behind, greeting them with a, “Hiya lads,” accompanied with a smile and wave.  

  


They all echo their greetings as Niall goes to sit down on Zayn’s bed. It’s a tight fit with Liam and Zayn already squeezed onto it, but he brushes some books to the side and splays out, his limbs hitting Liam in the stomach.

  


“Ow- _what the fuck_ , Niall, get off,” he mumbles, pushing at Niall’s shoulder. In return, he just waves a hand in Liam’s face and shuffles around on the bed, making himself comfortable.

  


“ _Lads,_ ” Louis exclaims, begging for them to pay attention to him again. He uncrosses his arms and throws them in the air, dramatic as ever. “ _Anyone?"_

  


“What’s up?” Liam asks casually, none of them still too sure if Louis comes bearing good or bad news. He’s like a volcano waiting to explode, Harry thinks. A tip in the wrong direction is enough to set him off, making them all drown in the lava erupting.

  


“I’ll tell you what fucking happened - _I finished my bloody dissertation!_ ” Louis says in a tone that echoes off the walls and throws his arms in the air as a smile splits his face in half. Now that he’s dropped the act, he’s bouncing on the heels of his feet, excited energy spreading across the room and wrapping around all of them.

  


“That’s great, Lou. I know how hard you worked on it, I’m proud of you,” Liam says as he turns to Louis and shoots him a genuine smile, his eyes warm. Louis returns the smile and the two of them have a wordless conversation for a second before they’re startled by Niall and Zayn congratulating Louis as well.

  


“Happy for you, mate. Guess I’m finally gonna be able to see you around again, then,” Zayn tacks on with a smirk and Louis rolls his eyes, faking a dry laugh. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, wanker. Still stuck with me all summer, don’t forget that.”

  


“How could I, not like you’re gonna talk about anything else now, are you,” Zayn replies with an arch of his eyebrows. Louis just sticks his tongue out at him and Zayn returns to the sketchbook placed in his lap with a chuckle.

  


“Hey, Lou,” Harry pipes up, making his presence in the room clear now that Louis’s attention is undivided again.

  


Louis turns around from where he’s still stood in between the two beds and shifts his eyes to where Harry’s sitting on the far right, his feet propped up on the comforter and open textbooks with papers scattered around him.

  


“I’m proud of you,” he tacks on once Louis looks over at him. He watches him smile, his eyes crinkling around the corners, a glow spreading across his face as he takes the words in.

  


Louis eyes have shifted from the stormy grey with which he’d entered the room to a calmer, more soothing blue. His entire face is giving off a more relaxed appearance now, a more content one as he keeps his eyes locked with Harry’s. He blinks, a few seconds passing until he finally cracks and mouths a small _thank you_ at Harry before shuffling his way over to him.

  


“Move,” he mumbles to Harry when he reaches the bed, pushing at his shoulder. Harry hurries to close his books and stuff his papers back into his notebooks before he throws them on the floor, scooting over to make room for Louis. The space is small, but Harry’s got one of his sides plastered to the wall and the other one to Louis’s body, making them fit into it. They’re touching from shoulder to knee, their bodies feeding off each other and their respective energies. They mold into one as they make all of their crooks and curves fit together, the pieces slotting into place.

  


Harry his arm from in between their bodies and drapes it over Louis’s shoulders to drag him close. Louis slumps forward with a deep sigh, his head coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder, pressed against the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

  


“How are you doing, love,” Harry whispers into his hair, his voice soft and quiet, for Louis’s ears only. The other three have carried on with their own conversation on the other side of the room, ignoring the two of them.

  


Louis sighs again and this time Harry feels it vibrate between their bodies, the feeling spreading shivers down his spine. “I’m happy it’s over, y’know, fucking worked like hell on this. I’m never reading another page of bloody Shakespeare again-” he breaks off, giving a small laugh that Harry mirrors. “But in a way it’s, like, _what now_ \- I’ve spent so long on this project. It’s such a big relief to be finished, but it makes me realize how close the end of the year is as well, y’know. We’ve only got exams left and _then what_ ,” he finishes, the thoughts continuing to swim in his head in silence. Harry just cards his fingers through Louis’s hair, urging him to go on at his own pace. He knows by now that the more you push Louis, the less likely you are to get anything out of him. He runs and he runs until there’s nothing left to run from, so sometimes all you can do is wait for him to catch up to his own reality.

  


“It’s just a bit scary,” he finally says, pushing the last thought out of his head.

  


“You’re about to graduate, go see all these amazing places and finally get out of here. So maybe it’s scary, but aren’t all good things a bit scary in a sense? Wouldn’t it be less exciting if you knew exactly what to expect, already had it all planned and figured out, already knew it all,” Harry whispers into his hair, the words nestling themselves between the strands and seeping into Louis’s skin.

  


“I suppose you’re right,” Louis says, tilting his head up to meet Harry’s stare and giving him a small smile, the corners of his mouth perking up. “Guess there’s a first for everything,” he adds a second later.

  


Harry scoffs and shoves him, eliciting a laugh out of Louis who clutches at his chest, shielding himself from Harry.

  


“Fuck off,” Harry mumbles in between laughter as he shakes his head. Louis’s got crinkles that brighten his eyes and there’s sharp noises spilling from his mouth as he continues laughing. “You shit.”

  


+

  


Suddenly it’s spring, the snow lacing the streets and dusted across rooftops merely a fading memory. The leaves are greener, the sun is out and everyone’s carrying themselves a bit taller, a faster beat echoing against the pavement as they walk, the layers of clothing fewer with the sun shining down on them and warming their skin.

  


Exams are coming up and more and more time is spent in the library, sat together in groups with their books open in front of them, all of them trying to cram as much information into their tired brains as possible. They make flashcards in shiny colors in hope of remembering it all, of the reds and greens and yellows being the code that helps them crack all the neatly arranged sentences on the pages they read. They spend all their money on coffee and tea they’re too busy to drink anyway and it seems to be the topic of every conversation they have.

  


Twelve hours awake spin into twentyfour that nestle themselves together to thirtysix, their minds spinning with information even as their eyelids are drooping and they’re on the brink on sleep. It’s creases from the books surrounding them on their cheeks, the shake to their fingers from their lack of sleep, the downturn of their lips as they force their eyes to stay open, _just one more sentence_ becoming their mantra as the hours tick by.

  


They all like to pretend that they’re surviving it, but seven am breakfasts after a night full of studying and study playlists that could play for two days do nothing to convince them about how all that they need is to nap for a month or two and finally remember what it feels like to be alive again.

  


Harry’s dragging on and doing his best. At least he’d like to think that he is. He spins his routine on a loop until it’s worked itself into his system, the actions carrying themselves out on instinct, his mind always rattling off information as he goes about his day, trying to sort it all out.

  


He’s fine though. Or at least he’ll be fine _soon,_ he tells himself. He doesn’t know when soon is but his mind tells him it’s after exams are done and the school year trickles out. He really wants to believe it.

  


+

  


With the entering of spring Zayn and Louis’s trip is inching closer as well, each day one less spent in their presence. Harry doesn’t really know when he first picks up on it but suddenly there’s sparks of excitement flittering through their usual complaints about school. The year is winding down and all of them are sick of school and all it entails, they just want summer and warmth and _summer_. The air’s warm but it’s not enough. Exams are still awaiting and until then none of them can take a fully relaxed breath.

  


Harry notices it one day when they’re in the library studying. It’s just the three of them - him, Niall and Liam and their books sat by one of the big, wooden tables in the far back. They’ve been here for a few hours, the number unknown. He stopped checking his phone after hour four passed, all of it becoming a bit too depressing for his liking.

  


The room’s been quiet for a while now, the only sound the one of fingers against keyboards and the rustle of pages being turned, but suddenly there’s the patter of feet stirring the silence and Louis is rounding the corner, a big grin intact on his face as he plops down in the chair opposite Harry and leans forward on his elbows.

  


The other two ignore his presence to continue reading while Harry looks up and meets Louis’s stare. He arches an eyebrow as to say _humor me_ and Louis bites down on his bottom lip, his lips twitching together as he releases it and opens his mouth to speak.

  


“We’re going to _Paris_ ,” he whispers, his voice still loud enough to carry through the quiet of library and hit Harry.

  


He furrows his brow in confusion. “I thought it was too expensive, out of your budget or whatever it was Zayn said?”

  


“It was! I mean, _it is,_ “ Louis clarifies, his face glowing with excitement as he speaks. “But Zayn has a cousin who just moved there last year as part of his gap year and he completely forgot about it. Didn’t remember until his mum mentioned it to him.”

  


“So, you’re going then?” Harry asks, pictures of Paris flashing by his eyes as they speak. He’s only ever been that one time as part of a class trip in 5th grade, but his still remembers the cut of the old buildings, the narrow back alleys and the cobblestone paths leading them further into the city as they all walked on a long line, holding hands with a classmate as to not get lost in this big, unfamiliar place they’d entered. The city was loud, louder than the quiet of Holmes Chapel and it swept over all of them like an unruly hurricane. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to picture Louis there, he thinks, they’re both hurricanes in the way they take you over so fully, mesmerize you and leave an impact on you.

  


“Yeah, Zayn called him this morning and he’s all for it, says it’s no worries. He’s got some shitty apartment a bit outside of the city and said that as long as we don’t mind sleeping on the floor he’ll take us in.”

  


“That’s great, Lou.” Harry smiles and Louis mirrors it quickly, his thin lips spread wide and his teeth showing.

  


“ _Innit_. We’re proper excited, thought we’d have to cut it and, I dunno, go somewhere boring or summat.” He laughs and flicks his fringe out of his face with his fingers grazing over his forehead as he does so. He watches Louis lower them from his face and prop them under his chin, resting his head in his hand.

  


Harry just tightens his lips, the smile weakening as he tries to keep it genuine. His mind is flooded with images of Louis strolling down the streets of Paris, wearing those braces and striped shirts he always wore when Harry met him that made him look French. He’s chatting up a boy in a dingy club, the bass vibrating loud and their bodies stood close as Louis mumbles in broken French. Harry blinks and suddenly it’s images of Louis and the faceless boy kissing, their mouths pressed together as their bodies move in tune to the music. They’re kissing with intent, both of them aware it’s the prelude to something else. A pang of jealousy hits him at the images, these merely made up thoughts of his and it beats at his chest, aching to be heard. But Harry just tucks them away and shuts them out. They’re nothingness, he tells himself as he blinks once again and ignores the stream of images continuing to fill his vision, tuning them out in favor of looking at Louis in front of him. He’s oblivious, still grinning with excitement at Harry.

  


+

  


Suddenly it becomes more evident than ever that they’re leaving - there’s stacks of travel books on Louis’s desks, there’s notebooks with the names of cities and places Harry’s only dreamt of visiting and the topic seems to always be on the tip of their tongues, waiting for someone to bring it up so they can update them on the latest place they’ve discovered. They spend all of their free time in between studying planning and the two of them are busier than ever. If they’re not cramming for their impending exams they’re googling cheap hostels and makingbudgets to stick to.

  


It all feels so official all of a sudden, as if the the loose thought has been transformed into a full fledged plan, something they’ve pinned to their calendars and are looking forward to. And Harry’s not jealous, not really, he’s seen bits and pieces of the world and there’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s still young, sounding suspiciously like his mum, but every time the topic’s brought up anxiety stirs in his chest. He can’t help but feel as if maybe Louis doesn’t have room for him anymore, as if he’s just something taking up his time, something he can shed easily and dispose of as soon as he finishes uni and boards the train to Paris.

  


Louis swings his arm around his shoulder and tugs him close and whispers about how happy he is to see him whenever they meet but it doesn’t feel right for Harry. It feels as if Louis is feeding him excuses for his behavior and telling him what he wants to hear. His words are sharp, they cut against his pale skin and leave invisible scars, ones that bleed on the inside. The red blood seeps through his body and spreads to wrap around his heart, clinging to it with every beat it takes.

  


Harry tacks on a smile in response, but it feels weak around the edges and he wonders if they’re okay. If their situation is permanent. If Louis’s words and Harry’s empty responses are permanent. If they’ll move on from this once Louis graduates. He knows the answer to that question, but pretends he doesn’t. Maybe it’ll hurt less that way, he lies to himself.

  


+

  


“ _Here’s to finally finishing those fucking exams, here’s to freedom!”_ Louis raises his beer in the air as he slurs the words out. He’s stood on the table in the kitchen in a small apartment where they’re currently at. The rest of the party is huddled around him, all of their eyes locked on Louis as he strings a half-assed speech together.

  


Harry tunes it all out as he watches Louis, sipping on his own drink. He’s not quite sure what it is, Niall’s words of _trust me_ as he had handed Harry him the glassechoing in the back of his mind as he downs another gulp. The alcohol tastes bitter coming down, scratching at the walls of his throat as he does his best to swallow. It’s like a fire is lit inside him when he feels it settle into the pit of his stomach.

  


He fixes his stare on Louis, who’s placed in the middle of the room. Harry thinks it’s fitting, how his position mirrors the way he’s always the center of attention, the one whose presence everyone is always aware of. He’s an enigma, a fresh gust of wind that rattles your bones and keeps you awake. He shines so bright in contrast to his darkened surroundings, his words and presence an everlasting glow in the midst of the crowd. He just _stands out_ , every part of his being capturing your attention, drawing you in until he has you wrapped around his finger and you’re unable to let go. _Hook, line and sinker._

  


“ _Cheers!_ ” Louis finishes his speech a few minutes later and they all raise their drinks, mirroring his position as they echo their sentiments and down their drinks in one go, their arms swinging in synchronization. Harry does the same, his stare never faltering from Louis as he swallows the strong liquid, feeling it seep through his veins and spread through his body, warming him up.

  


Seconds later the stereo is being cranked up again, the loud vibrations of the bass filling the room, punching at their chests. The crowd quickly separates, people huddling together in smaller groups as some of them take to staying in the kitchen while others move into the living room where the couch has been pushed to the side to make room for a dance floor. There’s already a good few dozen people pressed together in the small space, their arms wrapped around each other, the dim lightning doing little to hide the way they’re grinding against one another to the hard beat spilling through the room.

  


Harry can spot Niall on the dance floor with Liam, the two of them jumping with big smiles on their faces. They’re nodding their heads to the music, their bodies awkwardly moving along. Harry laughs as he watches them and he makes a blurry mental note to join them later. He figures he needs to let loose some of the tension still trapped in his shoulders, needs to release it into the space and watch it dissolve into the crowd.

  


Zayn’s sat a few steps away on the beat up couch with four other people, all of them plastered together. They’re making friendly conversation, Zayn facing the girl on his right and his arms outstretched as he talks animatedly. He seems to be enjoying himself with the way the corners of his lips are tilted upwards as his mouth moves to let words out. The girl’s got a warm smile on her face as well, her body shifted toward Zayn and their knees touching.

  


Harry pushes away from the door frame where he’d been previously leaning and takes a second to assemble his balance. He’s a few drinks in already and the room’s spinning, making it hard for him to take straight steps. He’s not drunk yet but the alcohol is still weighing him down, breaking him apart with every sip he takes. It’s nice, he thinks, the way it makes his thoughts separate, makes them less of a jumbled mess. This way they’re flowing freely, each word for itself, looking for others to be paired together with as it swims through the ocean of his mind.

  


He takes a few staggering steps into the kitchen and pushes through the thick crowd that’s formed. He grips onto people’s bodies - their shoulders, backs, elbows - as he makes his way ahead, the people blurring together, their faces getting lost as he moves forward, forward, forward, always moving somewhere, to someplace he isn’t yet aware of.

  


This inbetween state leaves him floating, as if his feet aren’t quite hitting the ground, the hard thumps of his shoes touching down never fully registering in his mind. He feels a bit weightless, like he could fly out the open window if he wanted to, out into the chilly night and roam the streets painted in a yellow glow from the towering streetlights. In the streets he’d be free of responsibility, of the hard weight sitting on his chest, of unresolved feelings and words that go unspoken. He’d be free of all the things that spin in his mind and make his judgement go grey and cloudy.

  


He finds Louis in the crowd after a couple of minutes. He’s leaning against the counter, one of his hands gripping onto the edge to steady him, his small fingers curled around its metallic exterior and the other one circled around a beer in his hand. He’s by himself for once, something that doesn’t happen often. People, like Harry, tend to gravitate toward Louis, as if there’s a magnetic field surrounding him that draws people in. It’s something in the way his voice sounds, tall and important and the way his figure carries itself with confidence. The air surrounding him always seems a bit foggy whenever Harry’s with him, as if he can’t see or think straight, Louis’s presence making the words change order and his heartbeat increase.

  


“Hey,” he says once he reaches Louis. The music is loud, it’s a rhythmic beat, that hits their bodies from every side, making their voices rise upwards to be heard above it.

  


Louis looks over from where his eyes had been trained somewhere in the far distance. It’s like he’s awaken from a trance from the way his head perks up and his eyelids flutter a bit more open. He takes in Harry standing in front of him and slowly a smile breaks out across his face.

  


“Hey, love,” he replies, a soft edge surrounding the words as he speaks. He’s slurring a bit, his words coming out slower than they usually do and his eyes are glossy, shining bright despite the dampened lightning of the room.

  


“You alright,” Harry asks as he steps forward and leans back against the counter next to Louis. Like this their shoulders are brushing, a small contact of fabric on fabric, their burning skin covered up.  

  


“I’m a bit drunk, I reckon,” Louis says with a dry laugh, the words getting stuck in his throat as he speaks. It doesn’t get lost on Harry but the rest of the room is so overpowering with its loud thumping and sweaty bodies plastered close to theirs, extracting any intimacy that the moment might’ve required.

  


“I reckon you’re _a lot_ drunk with the way you’re going at those drinks, mate.” He clinks his own cup with Louis’s beer, the sound getting drowned out. He looks up and aims a smile at Louis who returns it, but the edges of his lips don’t carry all the way up and it just looks weak and tired, like it’s taking every muscle in his body to attempt it.

  


“This is just my second beer, though. Had to slow down, god know’s what Niall puts in those drinks of his,” he scoffs and takes a long swig of his beer. He tilts his head back, his neck on display, making the bobbing of his Adam’s apple visible as he swallows. Harry quickly redirects his gaze, Louis’s golden skin haunting him as he let’s his eyes travel across the crowd around them. He places it instead on large group lingering by the table Louis had been stood on mere minutes ago and tries not to think about Louis’s body standing on top of it, the soft dip of his waist that leads to the curves of his hips and down the length of his legs. It’s flashes of memory, sparks that flicker awake. With every blink of his eyes, he pushes away at each individual body part, hoping that if he does it hard enough he can lose in the fuzzy confinements of his mind.

  


“He made me this one, claims it hold his secret ingredient,” Harry says as he looks down on the drink in his hand and circles his wrist, making the content slosh around. It’s a soothing motion, the one of _round and round,_  and he watches the alcohol melt together and splash up around the walls of the cup.

  


“I bet it’s straight vodka, but ask him and he’ll say it’s love or some other sappy bullshit like that,” Louis snorts and arches his eyebrows, a smirk tugging on his lips as he speaks. This one feels more genuine though, less weak and plastered on.

  


“Love‘s nice though. I’d rather it be love than straight vodka,” Harry counters, leaning into Louis so their shoulders nudge and he can prop his body weight on him. There’s still a visible line of space between their bodies but they’re taking creeping steps forward, the barriers getting torn down and rebuilt with every ticking moment, every second, every hour, every day.

  


“Can’t get drunk on love though, can you,” Louis spits out, his voice having had gone the smallest bit bitter again. It wouldn’t be visible to anyone else, but Harry knows Louis. He knows every bit of him, every tone to his voice, every movement he makes, every word he speaks. He might not know algebra or biology but he thinks that he doesn’t have to, knowing another person inside and out, every bit of them except the taste of their skin, is enough. It’s satisfying in a way a math equation could never be.

  


“Have you never been _drunk in love_ ,” Harry says, leaning forward and waggling his eyebrows at Louis who finally cracks and gives out an honest laugh, his eyes crinkling and the corners of his mouth pushing his cheeks up as the sound escapes his mouth.

  


“Walked right into that one, didn’t I,” Louis says, shaking his head and pushing at Harry’s shoulder who just keeps laughing, the different shades of their voices mixing together.

  


Harry thinks that for tonight, when their minds aren’t drunk on courage, that might be enough. There’s still words that breeze past them, that don’t get caught and spoken, actions that get left behind for the fear of the _what ifs_ that haunt them, but there’s a golden boy whose shoulder he’s pressed against laughing beside him and everything else, every want, every need just fades out as Louis keeps on laughing, his voice ringing out clear like a melody to Harry’s ears.

  


+

  


The day finally arrives a few days later. _The_ day - the one he’s been almost dreading a bit, because it’s too close to the leaving, to Louis leaving Harry. Graduation is like the chapter before the final one, the one where threads get tied together and the air fills with closure. It’s all coming together now with their pressed suits, the fancy ones, the ones they only wear on special occasions. They’ve been worn to all big life events, they’ve seen all the weddings and funerals and graduations that have passed through their lives and as he smoothes out the black fabric and runs his hands down his olive tie, he thinks that it’ll see this one too. Soon the day will have passed and it’ll be saved as a memory in his head. They’ll be bits and pieces of it, things that for some reason stick around. Some of them make sense, like his mum’s face when she’d said _i do_ at her second wedding, while others seem to linger for subconscious reasons he hasn’t worked out yet, like the exact shade of purple of the flowers they’d had at his great grandma’s funeral. They all pool in his memory, get collected in boxes, only to be brought out on days like these when he’s replaying them all in his head on a loop.

  


That morning they get their tickets from a stressed Zayn who stops by their room, thrusting them into Harry’s hand before he’s off again, rushing out a hasty goodbye over his shoulder and waving as he walks down the corridor, feet moving faster than Harry’s ever seen them do.

  


The first ceremony isn’t until a few hours later but Harry knows they’ve got a busy schedule ahead of them, a billion things to do and to keep track of. He texts Louis a quick _good luck today .x_ before pocketing his phone and spending the remaining hours messing around on his computer. He doesn’t get a reply, but he doesn’t know if he really expected one to begin with.

  


Zayn’s ceremony is first and the three of them, Harry, Niall and Liam, meet up with the Maliks and Tomlinsons outside of the building where it’s being held. There’s so many of them, all of Louis’s and Zayn’s siblings mixing together, a dozen little heads moving around quickly. There’s the patter of feet hitting the concrete underneath them as they all stand in smaller groups, talking to each other. As they approach the big huddle of people Harry’s able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversations, big hand gestures and overpowering voices as they all battle to be heard above the loud chatter.

  


They all greet them once they’ve been spotted and the next half hour is spent in polite small talk with _how you beens_ and _it’s been so longs_ with the occasionally _look at you, you’ve gotten so big,_ as if they’re still growing and getting taller at their age. But Harry just plasters on his widest smile and chatters away to Jay. He nods along to her stories while she’s trying to balance one of the babies on her hip, the other one peacefully asleep in its stroller. He greets all of the sisters and they all give him big hugs in return, asking him to tell them all about Uni since _Louis never tells us anything, he’s so boring, just tells us we have to be proper smart to get in_ which apparently is a lie since _he got in, didn’t he._ Harry chuckles and it’s almost like Louis is there, rolling his eyes and ruffling his sisters hair as he tells them to _shut it, will you._

  


Suddenly they’re being ushered into the big hall where the ceremony is being held and they all take their seats, Harry ending up wedged between the two older twins. He doesn’t mind it, he loves kids and in their wait they talk about how excited they are for summer and show him the latest game they’ve got on their phones, getting him to download it to his own as well. They play until Phoebe ends up beating both of their high scores and they’re told the ceremony is about to start.

  


The ceremony itself isn’t long but it drags on, Harry never being one to find these things too exciting. He doesn’t really have any other friends, besides Zayn, amongst the rest of the English majors and quickly gets bored listening to names he’s never heard being rattled off at a slow pace. It’s like with every name the clock on the wall slows down further, making the ceremony take even longer before they reach the M’s and Zayn’s being called.

  


_Tick tock-tick tock._ Name. Clapping. _Tick tock-tick tock_. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

  


While he waits, he braids the twins hair who’ve grown just as restless as he has. They’re practically bouncing in their seats, their short legs kicking back and forth. As he gives both of them two pigtails he has to put a hand on their legs to get them to still several times. They always give him sheepish smiles and whisper _i’m sorrys_ while blinking up at him, making him give them a lopsided smile in return and whisper _it’s alright_. When he’s done they both give him identical grins that have flashes of Louis in them. He tries not to linger for too long on their features and how there’s sparks of Louis shining through in the color of their eyes, their hair and the crinkles by their eyes as they smile. He doesn’t want to be haunted by memories before Louis has even left, just wants for the day to go on at its own place, without him getting stuck on the bits that punch at his chest. He’ll have time for that later, he thinks bitterly as he claps when yet another unknown name is called.

  


\--

  


After Louis’s ceremony is done they all gather on the big lawn outside of the building. There’s other groups just like theirs, surrounding them. It’s an ocean of black - suits and gowns mixed together with the light colors that come with the summer. There’s big hugs and claps on backs, people congratulating one another and relatives exchanging sentiments through kisses on cheeks. The light breeze brushing past them carries with it the love and pride that’s soaring in the air, all words of _i’m proud of you_ and _you did so well_ floating through them, spreading themselves along the sharp cuts of the green lawn they’re stood on. They’re restricted to their bubble, bouncing off the corners and slipping in through the crowd again, repeating the words again and again until they’re etched onto their skin.

  


They all line up for the photographs, despite Louis’s complaints about how they’ve already gotten the professional ones done _so why is there more._  Jay just shushes him and bops him on the nose as she tells him that _it’s tradition, louis, I don’t care what you think, now go stand in between lottie and fizzy._  She arranges them all into neat lines, making sure everyone’s ready as she hands over the camera to Harry and goes to join them. She props Doris further up on her hip and wraps the other one around Dan’s shoulders, slotting him into her side. Harry slowly focuses the camera, the small cross being centered right across Louis’s beaming face and begins the countdown. As he counts down from five he studies all of their faces individually, the resemblance of all of them, how despite their different genes they all have some things in common. Sharp cuts and lines that hold the trademark of a Tomlinson, as Louis had told him once when he’d shown him the photos of the newborn twins. Harry had just laughed then, saying he there was no way he could tell a two day baby was a Tomlinson but Louis had disagreed. He’d pointed to their eyes, their noses, their lips and said _see right there._

  


As he says a loud _cheese,_  getting one in return, Harry thinks Louis’s might’ve been right after all.

  


\--

  


It’s shaky fingers circled around the cold metal railings, hearts beating loud in their chests as the tube rattles around them. It’s a thumping, resembling the _tha-thump-ta-thump_ that sounds rhymticially inside of them. It’s their swaying bodies, the ones filled with the champagne they’d had earlier in the night, their swimming minds and glassy eyes.

  


It’s courage found in the alcohol, courage to speak words that stand clear in their minds but that come out hazy, come out muffled as they lose themselves to the shaking. It’s _back and forth back and forth_ , their bodies pliant underneath their poisoned veins and the soft edges that surround their vision.

  


_I’ll miss you, Lou._

  


_I’ll miss you too, Harry._

  


It’s small touches, ones that ghost across their skins, leaving invisible imprints. Scars that stick to their hearts, to their closed throats and to every place Louis’s ever touched him. His body is filled with scars, scars he can’t see, scars he can only feel. He brushes his fingers along the inside of Harry’s wrist, his fingernails scratching against the pale skin, against the blue veins threaded underneath and Harry feels it, feels how there’s a mark being formed already. It’s a second of warmth and a lifetime of memories etched into the faint brush of Louis’s fingers.

  


(Don’t leave.)

  


It’s hands slung around shoulders as they stumble down the streets, the cobblestones uneven underneath their dress shoes. The shoes that’d been polished this morning now hold smudges of grey and brown. Their suit jackets have the sleeves rolled up and their shirts are untucked and their ties loose. It’s hands around waists, holding onto each other as they focus on the _one, two, three_ of their walking, the one of not falling over as their worlds keep on spinning. Fingers gripping tight, so tight the skin of his knuckles brushes through the fabric, pressing onto Harry’s ribs.

  


It’s the others walking ahead, the steps between their separate bodies too hard to count through the haze of their minds, the two of them falling behind. It’s Zayn swinging his head back, taking a sip of the bottle he’d hidden underneath his jacket and snuck out. It’s Harry nuzzling into the dip of where Louis’s neck meets his shoulders, breathing him in and hearing Louis’s laughter above him. It’s light, light and clear as it rushes through his body. Harry feels it hit him where he’s pressed against Louis’s skin and he giggles into his neck. They’re soaring, high above the ground, just the two of them and the sun setting in the horizon, painting them shades of pink.

  


(I love you. I love you. I love you.)

  


\--

  


They’re lying with their backs pressed against the cold concrete of the building. The five of them lie in a line, their legs outstretched and hands pressed to their sides. Around them the dark of the night stretches on, the blackness never ending, only breaking through the headlights of the cars passing underneath them. They can’t see them, can only hear them as they fade into the background and become nothingness, the stillness taking over instead. It’s quiet, their breathing sounding harsh in comparison. They don’t speak, just lie there, with the black and their glowing skin, breathing it all in.

  


Above them the night sky stretches out. There’s no stars, the city lights too overpowering, too overwhelming for the stars to show themselves with the hustle and flashing colors that come from a city that never sleeps. London’s always awake, there’s always staggering souls wandering the streets at night, the streetlights never turning off and the passing cars never stopping. It has a heartbeat of its own, one that never dies as the city keeps on taking breaths with every flash of light that passes before their eyes.

  


Harry’s from the country, a small village where the stars shine every night, so many of them he would lose himself in the counting on the summer nights he couldn’t sleep. He would open his window and gaze up at the sky, the dots of silver looking back at him.

  


But as he lies here with his four favorite people close to him, he’s alright, he thinks. He misses home, but he blinks all of it away as he’s passed the bottle of champagne and he props himself up on his elbows and takes a swig. He feels it slosh down his throat and through his body before it settles in the pit of his stomach where it warms him up from within.

  


He turns to his left and nudges Louis with his free hand. He pushes it into his side, his fingers dancing across his ribs as Louis let’s out a staggered breath, trying his hardest not to laugh. He’s still facing up, not looking at Harry, so all he can see is his profile. There’s a soft blue lightning him up from behind, creating a halo that sharpens his features. It illuminates the bits of hair he still has left from shaving his stubble, makes them silver and bright against the shadow that falls over his face. His eyelashes are light, his eyebrows are light, the dip above his bottom lip is light, it’s silver shining through where his lips are slightly parted. Harry blinks his world into focus and presses into Louis’s ribs again at which he gives in and a small laugh escapes his mouth.

  


Satisfied, Harry leans forward, smirking once Louis turns his head to him and holds out the bottle. Louis goes to mirror his position, propping himself up on his elbows as he circles his fingers around the bottle. Their fingers brush, a beat of a second where they overlap, skin on skin, electricity flitting through their bodies before he blinks and Louis shifts his fingers so the connection is broken. Harry quickly retreats his hand and let’s his arms fall to the hard ground as he leans back down. He can see Louis taking a swing of the bottle in his peripheral vision, how he moves his head back, exposing his throat and chugs down sip after sip.

  


Harry just closes his eyes and lets the dark engulf him wholly, lets it seep into his skin and put out the flaming light the alcohol creates around his beating heart. Just lets it wash over him as he ignores Louis’s burning stare pressed into the side of his face.

  


+

  


The next morning they have breakfast with Zayn and Louis’s  families before they get packed into their cars, suitcases in the trunks and kids lined up in the backseats, to leave for their respective cities. They’d stayed at a hotel the previous night while the five boys had roamed the streets, drunk on the feeling of flying and the alcohol they drank. Today, it seems like a less than a good idea, as every hangover ever does. Harry’s head is pounding as if his heartbeat has been transferred from his chest into the walls of his mind, making it beat too fast, too loud for his squinting eyes and the dim sunlight shining through his blinds.

  


He spends an hour in bed that morning, staring up at the white of the ceiling, trying to process the previous night. It’s flashes of memories, blackness in between, the dark a bridge between each separate memory. He remembers the warmth the most though, the warmth seeping further through his body as the night had carried on. Louis’s fingers on his skin as the rode the shaky tube, Louis’s body pressed to his as they stumbled down the street and Louis’s smile as he finally let his guard down and laughed, the sound still ringing fresh in Harry’s ears.

  


Eventually Niall returns from his early shift at the pub and pounces on Harry, throwing his body across Harry’s. He wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, attempting to cling to him like a koala and the realization spreads a smile across Harry’s face. He really loves Niall, he thinks. He can always tell when Harry gets in one of his _moods_ , as he calls them. When the thoughts in his head spin too fast for his liking, confusing him as he tries to untangle them and make sense out of the mess they form. Niall always knows how to coax out the happiness in him, knows just how to make Harry give a genuine laugh, one that isn’t forced out of his body like the others are. He takes him out for ice cream in November, their teeth shattering the entire time, makes a song up for him on the spot, crooning about Harry’s curls and dimples and gives him hugs, hugs so long Harry relaxes in his arms and returns them.

  


Niall smacks a wet kiss to his forehead and pinches his cheek before climbing off with a _get up, gotta start getting ready if we don’t wanna be late_ and a wink thrown over his shoulder before going over to the dresser and blindly picks out a pair of jeans and a shirt. With one last _get up, you lazy tosser_ he grabs a towel and his shower kit before shutting the door and heading off to the bathroom.

  


Harry stays in bed for exactly another twelve minutes, watching the numbers on the bright screen of his phone switch as the minutes tick by, until he drags himself up and starts getting ready.

  


\--

  
  


Breakfast is a loud affair with all of them squeezed around several tables that’ve been pushed together. They make a lot noise in the otherwise quiet restaurant, their voices mixing together to create mismatched harmonies with words fading in and out as conversations carry on. There’s a slow song playing in the background, the sound soft, drowned out by their echoing voices.

Harry’s sat next to Louis by one of the far ends of the table. Their knees are pressed together under the table and he wonders if Louis’s as achingly aware of it as he is. If Louis can trace every bit of them that’s connected, if he can feel the warmth carrying through their layers of clothing and hear the loud beating of Harry’s heart.

  


He shifts, suddenly feeling self conscious yet making sure not to jostle Louis who’s talking to Lottie across the table. He carefully moves his leg, tucking it next to his other one. The warmth is still there, a ghost touch that lingers against his skin. He pretends he doesn’t feel it, that it’ll go away as he’s roped into another conversation. He laughs and talks but his attention is stuck on Louis to his left throughout breakfast, always following his movements in his peripheral vision, always checking up on him.

  


The hour ticks by quickly and before he knows it they’ve all finished their food, drank their glasses of juice and the mums are fighting over the check. It’s almost standard protocol by now, the way one of them will try to sneakily grab the check while the other one loudly protests and suddenly they’ve been bickering about it for ten minutes and everyone is rolling their eyes, knowing they’ll end up splitting it anyway. It’s like a ritual that comes with big family dinners, Harry thinks. It’s always the same, the predictability comforting in an odd way. The knowledge of how it’s going to pan out settling his bones.

  


They say their goodbyes on the curb outside of the restaurant, their cars parked on the street and ready for them to head off. Niall, Harry and Liam say theirs first, going in a row and giving everyone heartfelt hugs with _see you soons_ thrown out as they wrap their arms around yet another person. When they’re done they stand to the side, letting Louis and Zayn have their moments with the families. They’re leaving in a few days, just the goodbye party and the packing up of their rooms left before they’re off on their _big adventure_ as Louis has gotten into the habit of calling it. They won’t have time to see their families for another few months so the hugs seem to linger for a beat longer than they normally do and their voices seem to go quieter too.

  


Afterwards the five of them wrap their arms around each other, bodies pressed close as they watch the two cars drive down the street. Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry grips tighter around his waist, inching closer into his side to let him know that he’s here. Louis might be gone soon - in just a number of hours he’ll be off - but Harry will still be here. He’ll still be in England, with a heart that beats hopelessly for a boy who’s got his face pressed into his neck and whose heart doesn’t beat back at him.

  


+

  


Harry feels like he’s on fire. There’s flames burning underneath his skin, and each sip of his drink, each bit of alcohol that he consumes, seeps into his system and makes them burn bigger, brighter, taller.

  


He doesn’t know for how long he’s been drinking, just that it feels good. The alcohol makes him feel good. He doesn’t know how he would’ve been able to handle the night without it, without a flaming skin and hazy world, doesn’t know how he’d handle it with just his aching heart and Louis across the room. He’s stood in the middle of a small group of people, all eyes plastered on him as he talks with his big gestures and a drink in his hand. He’s got all of them under his spell as much as he’s got Harry. They’re on opposites sides of the room but still he can feel every one of his senses focused on Louis as he laughs and tips his head back. The sound of his laughter doesn’t travel across the room, the thumping of the music too loud for that, but it rings clear in Harry’s ears as if Louis’s stood next to him. His vocal chords play a soft melody, one written to break through the dim haze of Sunday mornings and capture Harry’s attention. It reels him in again and again until he gives himself over fully, thrusts his heart in Louis’s hands with a _here, take it, it’s yours_.

  


Louis is leaving. In 48 hours he’ll be in Paris in some guy’s apartment, just him and Zayn, the rest of them left behind. Harry will be in his childhood bedroom where he’s got a collection of memories plastered to every surface. There’s his first kiss in the sheets of his bed, his first tears splattered across his desk, his first real fight, the first one that mattered, across his walls. It’s all there, sitting and waiting for Harry to return back home, open the door and be wrapped up in the bits and pieces that colored his childhood and teenage years. But he’s got memories of his own here in London now as well. There’s his first one night stand, the first time he met the lads, the first time he fell so hard he forgot how to breathe as he stared into an ocean of blue. They’re all dusted across classrooms and streets, getting swept up in the wind and flying out across the city, taking the bits Harry let himself leave behind with it.

  


He blinks his world back to focus, the colors plastered to the back of his eyelids growing into shapes. The people surrounding him at the party, the furniture scattered around the apartment, it all fills his vision as he’s brought back to the present. He realizes he’s zeroed in on Louis and now he’s staring back at Harry, a confused glint in his eyes and one corner of his mouth raised up into a small smirk.

  


Harry awkwardly reaches his free hand up and gives an unsure wave. He tries to arrange his face into something natural and attempts a smile, wincing at how uncomfortable it makes him feel and how stiff it must come off. Louis let’s his lips tug into a full blown smirk in reply, oblivious to the thoughts running through Harry’s mind. He beckons him over with a tip of his head and a mouthed _come on_ , but Harry just shakes his head and motions toward the kitchen, raising his cup as if he’s going to get a drink. He thinks he sees Louis’s face drop before he’s turning around and walking away, but doesn’t let himself linger on it.

  


The crowd’s thick with bodies, the party filled with people here to say goodbye to Louis and Zayn. They push at him from every side as he does his best to navigate through the crowd, looking for familiar faces in the sea of strangers. People he’s never met surround him and their skin plastered against his own makes him itch, makes his chest stir with anxiety as he speeds up his walking, his feet moving faster, faster, faster as to find a quiet space.

  


Some time later he stumbles upon the balcony and figures _why not_ as he pushes the door open and steps out onto the small bit of concrete. It’s significantly quieter out here with only one other pair of people. They’re stood on the far left of the balcony, sharing a cigarette between them and carrying on a conversation too quiet for Harry to hear.

  


He goes over to the railing and leans his elbows against it, taking in the night. Everything’s a shade of dark blue, every building surrounding them, every tree, every person walking on the sidewalk underneath him. They’re all hidden in the darkness, becoming anonymous, the identity that their colors bring to them wiped clean by the setting of the sun. He let’s his eyes roam along the sharp cuts of the buildings and tries to peer into the glowing windows, but he’s too far away, only seeing black blobs move around.

  


Harry’s startled out of his thoughts when the door rattles behind him. It opens up and for a second the previously dull throbbing of the party heightens again, but then the door closes and it fades out, the stillness of the night taking over.

  


The person goes to stand next to him by the railing and in his peripheral, he can tell it’s Liam. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and takes one out, lighting up quickly. He offers one to Harry, but he shakes his head without turning to face Liam. He puts the pack away before taking a long drag of his cigarette and exhaling, the smoke dissolving and becoming dark blue.

  


“It’s weird that they’re leaving, isn’t it,” Liam says after a couple of seconds of silence. His shoulders are slumped, his body leaning forwards and his fingers gripped tight around the cigarette even though the words come out soft, a bit gentle.

  


“It hasn’t really sunk in that they’ve graduated yet, let alone are going away,” he continues, not waiting for Harry to reply. “I keep thinking I’m going to see them around.”

  


He gives out a small laugh before he takes a drag, holding it in for a beat before exhaling, the smoke spilling out of his mouth. “I’ll read something and think of how I’m going to mention it to Zayn or see something funny and say to myself ‘ _Louis will love this’_ before it hits me that they won’t be around every day anymore.”

  


“It’s just a few months,” Harry pipes up, the words scratching against his throat like sand paper as he speaks. His voice comes out too weak, wavers too much as he tries to feign casualty.

  


“You know it isn’t, Harry,” Liam says, finally turning to face him. Harry looks back at him, their eyes meeting. There’s a sadness written across Liam’s face, this unspoken pity he feels for Harry. It’s as if he can read every thought running through his head, as if he knows everything Harry’s been too afraid to voice out loud.

  


“They’ll be here next year, but it won’t be the same, both you and I know that.”

  


Harry hums, not sure what to reply because he _does_ know, is the thing. He’s known it ever since New Years, since he returned to school after the holidays. It was as if something had shifted, things never fully returning to the way they were before. He’s known it through the months passing, the thought always plastered to the back of his mind, flashing in neon colors. It’s haunted him to the point it’s all he can think about, about how the before is in the past, how there’s no more _them_ anymore, not like there once was.

  


“I’ll miss them,” Liam sighs and Harry shifts his gaze back to the concrete building that towers above them, Liam’s honest eyes growing too invasive.

  


The silence stretches on between them, the minutes ticking by before Liam puts his cigarette out on the railing and heads back into the party with a pat to Harry’s shoulder and words that get left hanging in the air.

  


Harry stays out on the balcony for a while more by himself. The cold is punching at his cheeks, tinting them a light pink as he drags his arms closer around himself, trying to savor some of the warmth still gripping onto his skin while he thinks _i’ll miss them too, i’ll miss them too, i’ll miss them too_ until the words are scattered across the expanse of his skin, filling his vision, making him drown in them.

  


\--

  


When he re-enters the party it’s like his body is going under again, his vision foggy as the corners turn more blurry with every step that takes him further into the crowd. He let’s himself get swept up in it all, let’s the warmth engulf him and flood his senses as he loses himself in the sea of people.

  


He downs drink after drink, his world spinning faster and faster as he tilts his head back, feeling the alcohol rush and spread through his body. It’s warming him up, making it easier to inhale and exhale without his bones weighing him down. Instead he feels as if he’s flying, as if his feet aren’t touching the ground. He picks up another shot glass, clinking it with the others and counting to three before raising their drinks up and then pouring them down their throats.

  


He flits from group to group, letting strangers become friends whose names he won’t remember in the morning. They’re so shiny, so new. They’re sparkling in colors of pink, green, purple underneath the lights, making them stand out against the crowd. He takes them in, let’s their faces flood his mind as he follows lines across their faces, follows them over the slopes of their noses, the arch of their eyebrows and over the dip of their lips. His eyes jump from place to place, constantly memorizing it all, taking it all and storing it in boxes inside his mind.

  


He dances, his body pressed close to others. He’s feeding off of them, taking their energy and letting it rattles his bones and swarm his mind. Their movements become his, their bodies molding into one as the music seems to grow louder with every passing beat. It nestles itself into his ears, spreading through his body as he becomes one with it. His heart matches the beat of the song, the _ta-thump-ta-thump_ loud and overpowering.

  


With every passing hour he feels the thoughts of leaving and Louis fading more and more. He takes another drink, makes a new friend, pushes against another body and floats higher and higher, repeating the actions until he’s carrying them out on instinct, the alcohol making every dark thought become less and less until he’s made himself believe they were never there to begin with.

  


\--

  


The night seems to pass in a flash of lightning - touching down and only leaving the aftermath. He feels it all so intensely as it’s happening, feels it etch itself onto his memory, but with a blink it’s all gone and he’s emerging from the darkness.

  


There’s a hand running down his cheek, a motion of back and forth, every stroke gentle and soft. The fingers cool down his hot skin, they’re cold like the chilly night, as if the person’s been outside and just came back in again.

  


Most of the alcohol’s fizzled down to a low buzz collecting underneath Harry’s skin by now, just sitting there, creating a vibrating echo instead of running through his veins and spreading through his body. His head still feels like it’s floating, but the intense spinning he’d felt before passing out seems to have disappeared. He’s thankful for it, the feeling of being dragged in every direction unsettling and something he won’t miss.

  


The hand’s suddenly retracted, a beat and it’s gone, the quiet of the room replaced by a low whisper of, “ _Harry, love._ ”

  


Harry opens his eyes at that, squinting as he tries to get used to the orange glow cast over the room by the lamp sitting on the nightstand. Louis’s in front of him, his eyes pinned on Harry as he slowly flutters his eyelids more open. He’s lying down, Louis right next to him on the bed. He must’ve been carried here because last he remembers he was in the living room, surrounded by bodies.

  


In the bedroom it’s just the two of them. It’s quiet, the only sounds coming from the open window and the passing cars outside. The party must’ve died down because the dull throbbing carrying through the walls is gone and so is the loud chatter of people.

  


He prefers it like this, anyway. It’s always been easier when it’s just the two of them. In a way it’s terrifying, as if he’s standing in his naked bones. Louis’s the only person to see through him and who can read every expression cast over his face, no one able to quite get him like this. But in another way it’s more natural this way. He’s always fallen into an easy rhythm with Louis, the two of them feeding off each other.

  


Neither has spoken since Louis’s soft words, their eyes still pinned on one another. The quiet of the room is echoing across its walls, spreading and running through them.

  


Harry brings his hand up from where it’d been resting on his stomach and brushes his fingers across Louis’s forehead, running them through his fringe. It’s soft now, the product he’d had in it earlier in the night gone. Harry’s always liked it this way. It’s easier to run his fingers through, less of a resistance as he does so.

  


He tucks one strand behind Louis’s ear and let’s his fingers run up the shell of it, barely touching down. He traces its form, the half moon of it, before he runs his fingers down Louis’s neck. He keeps his touch soft, a faint whisper of how it’d be if he let himself give in to every feeling tugging at his heart. It’s like scattered memories, every touch, every brush of fingers, a rewind of the past two years. Every platonic touch they’ve shared, everything that he once used to take for granted, now resurfacing and washing over him, drowning him in the intensity of it’s presence.

  


Louis’s been still this entire time but when Harry’s hand settles on the curve between his neck and shoulders, he visibly relaxes. It’s as if he’d been holding in a breath and finally, _finally_ , let himself give in and exhale. His entire body shivers, his skin turning prickled underneath Harry’s touch, small goosebumps created.

  


His lips quirk into a small smile, a barely there upturn of his lips. Harry gives him one in return, just as small, just as gentle as the one Louis’s aiming at him.

  


They keep quiet. Their eyes locked, their skin touching, the stillness of the room wrapped around them, holding them close, pressed together as they become one.

  


“I’ve missed you,” Louis finally whispers. It’s like the words have been sitting on his tongue this entire time, waiting for the right moment, the right second to be spoken.

  


“I’ve missed you too,” Harry replies. Neither of them mention how it’s past tense.

  


They lapse into a content silence again, still close, but not close _enough_. Now that the words have been spoken into the space between them, it feels easier in a sense. They both know where this is heading, the charged air of electricity connecting their bodies finally surfacing, making itself shine bright and clear.

  


So when Louis tangles their feet together and they both scoot closer on the bed, as if by an unspoken agreement, it’s no surprise to Harry. His hand is still resting on Louis’s neck and Louis brings his up to Harry’s hip, toying with the hem of his shirt. He bunches it up so he can press his fingers against Harry’s skin. His fingers are still cold, but Harry’s skin feels like it’s on fire.

  


When their lips finally meet it starts out slow, as if they’re getting to know each other. It’s a soft brush of lips on lips, skin on skin, before Louis grabs his hips, gripping tight.He closes the last bit of distance between them and they’re pressed chest to chest now, so close Harry can feel the rapid beating of Louis’s heart against his.

  


Their mouths mold together like waves crashing against the shore, going back again and again. They slot together, fitting perfectly with Louis’s thin lips pressed against Harry’s full ones. Neither of them take charge, instead keeping it simple, just the brushing of lips.

  


Louis presses his tongue in at the same time as he locks his ankles around Harry’s feet,  tugging him forward, and it’s like a release of electricity. The flickers are buzzing inside their mouths, exploding and creating stars. It’s as if he’s trying to map out every bit of Harry, tracing patterns with his tongue. His lips press down harder and Harry wonders if he’s trying to savor this as much Harry is. If he’s wondering how much of this is gonna reduce itself to a faint memory in a couple of hours, and he’s desperate to remember it, to lock up as much of it as he can.

  


Harry wraps his hands around Louis’s lower back and it’s as if they can’t stay apart longer than the beat of a second they need to exhale. They keep going back, and back, and back. The air from their lungs is punched out in small puffs as they pant into each others mouths, letting their breathing mix together.

  


They kiss until their eyelids feel heavy and their thoughts are scattering, running off in different directions, hard to keep track off. They fall asleep with their bodies wrapped around each other, Harry’s head on Louis’s chest, his beating heart underneath and Louis’s arms around him, holding him in place.

  


\--

  


Harry wakes up to sunshine through the open window. The blinds are up, allowing for light to stream through the room. It washes it in soft shades of pink and orange that drift into each other, creating new colors. He blinks his eyes open slowly, allowing himself to get adjusted to the harsh contrast of the back of his eyelids. It takes him a second to figure out where he is, the pounding of his head doing nothing to help. As he opens his eyes further, allowing the light to hit him, the night comes back in flashes. Most of it’s a blur, but he remembers bits and pieces, streaks of silver against their muted backgrounds - watching Louis across the room, talking to Liam on the balcony, dancing, drinking and spinning, spinning, spinning.

  


There’s a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, holding his waist and _oh_ , suddenly there’s a new stream of memories flooding his mind. He remembers Louis in the dark room, bathed in the soft orange glow, their legs slotting together and _kissing._ He remembers the way their lips had felt pressed together, the taste of Louis’s tongue against his own, tracing patterns inside Harry’s mouth. The memories drift into one another but they all stand in flashing colors, already tattooed onto the walls of his mind.

  


Harry’s brought out of his thoughts when he feels Louis waking up underneath him. He wakes up in stages, each body part being brought back slowly. His legs start fidgeting, his stomach shifting and Harry can feel his heartbeat increasing, being awoken. Louis starts making these smacking noises and when Harry shifts his head so he’s able to look up at Louis, he’s met with him scrunching his face together and his mouth gaping open and shut.

  


Harry moves up so that he’s no longer lying on top of Louis, allowing him some breathing space and instead going to lie down on the pillow next to him. Louis brings a hand to rub at his eyes, blinking the sleep away. He mumbles a few incoherent words, mainly making disgruntled noises as he opens his eyes properly. Harry’s right in front of him, their faces inches apart. When Louis sees him, he seems taken aback for a second before his features visibly relax, smoothing out into something soft and content.

  


“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice quiet and a bit husky from sleep. The corners of his lips tilt into a small smile and his eyes crinkle.

  


Harry can’t help but smile back at the blissful look on Louis’s face, so endeared by the boy in front of him. Louis’s eyes are a soft blue in the mornings, specks of silver in them. They’re like galaxies, he thinks, with small constellations being created inside them, every spot connecting to another dust of silver, tying them together to an entire universe.

  


“Morning,” he replies, reaching out to run a hand gently across Louis’s cheek, mirroring Louis’s movement from the night before. He doesn’t let his hand linger, just brushes it across briefly before he runs it down Louis’s side, placing it on his back.

  


He’s about to push forward, press their bodies together and brush a kiss against Louis’s lips when he sees something shift in Louis’s eyes. With the touch of his hand it’s as if something lights up inside him, setting fire to the soft look from seconds ago. Something washes over his face and his features turn sharp again. He chews on his bottom lip, the previous smile fading away.

  


Harry stills. Suddenly his hand feels heavy lying against Louis’s back, as if it’s sinking into the fabric of his shirt and through his hollow bones onto the sheets of the bed. His shoulders have gone tense and there’s a lump growing in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

  


He’s about to retract his hand, maybe move away, say something to get away from this. The content air turned stiff, hard and heavy all at once. It’s wrapping around them, wrapping around his heart, anxiety nestling itself into his veins and spreading through his body. He’s about to try to turn the situation around when Louis surges forward, pecking him casually on the cheek before he’s scrambling off the bed, ripping Harry’s hand away in the process and stumbling out of the room.

  


It happens so quickly Harry’s not sure how to process it, process whatever just happened. It all changed so fast, everything from the previous night getting caught in the passing wind and soaring out through the window, getting scattered across the streets of London. Floating through the people moving around early in the morning, passing through their bodies and slowly dissolving until there’s nothing left but the rapid beating of Harry’s heart against his ribcage.

  


He sits across from Louis during breakfast, waiting for something, _anything_ to flash across his face and show the he still remembers, that the previous night wasn’t a figment of Harry’s imagination. But Louis spends the entire breakfast chatting to Liam, his face turned away from Harry, their eyes never meeting despite the intensity of the stare Harry’s aiming his way and it leaves him with a hole in his chest, one that he’s not sure what to fill with anymore.

  


+

  


“Niall, remind me again why we have this-” Harry brings up the plush object, turning it around in his hands to figure out what it is. “Stuffed octopus in the color of the Irish flag that sings _Dancing Queen_ by Abba?” He turns to Niall who’s stood on the other side of the room, packing and talking to Liam. At the sound of Harry’s voice he looks up, freezing with a stack of shirts in his hands and glances to the object in Harry’s hands.

  


“Oh, that’s Milo. My mum got him for me on my third birthday.” Niall beams at the sight of _Milo,_  apparently, and walks across the room, navigating through the labyrinth of moving boxes scattered across it. He tugs the toy out of Harry’s hands and squishes it before shoving it in Harry’s face with a, “ _Cute, isn’t he?_ ”

  


“Um, sure,” Harry replies, hesitantly, “why does it sing _Dancing Queen_ though. It’s not very Irish, is it?”

  


“‘S the greatest song of all time, that’s why,” Niall replies with a shrug before he stashes the octopus under his arm and walks over to his side of the room again, humming about being _young and sweet, only seventeen_ under his breath. He gives no further explanation as to his weird choice in childhood toys, but Harry’s been friends with him for far too long for this to seem like something out of the ordinary, anyway.

  


With a raise of his eyebrows, Harry returns back to the box he’s currently packing. They’re set to leave in a few hours, Niall catching a plane back home to Ireland and Harry getting a ride with Gemma to Holmes Chapel, and of course, they’d both put off packing until the very last day. Harry had tried to get them to start early, like any reasonable person would’ve, but there were other things occupying his mind, making his attempts half hearted at best. He pushes any thoughts that might resurface back into the dark part of his brain and picks up a couple of books, placing them into a neat line in the box.

  


The other boys are there as well, all of them already done. Louis and Zayn are sprawled out on the window sill with the window propped open. They’re sharing a cigarette and talking mindlessly, their voices getting drowned out by the rustle of cardboard and the soft music spilling from Harry’s iPod dock. Liam’s there too, done days ago already and he’s helping Niall out, the two of them bickering about proper folding techniques and what not. He tosses Milo on the bed and Niall lets out an audible gasp as he scrambles to retrieve it, clutching him to his chest as he furrows his eyebrows and starts scolding Liam.

  


They’ve all been at it for a few hours and are almost done by the looks of it. Harry and Niall have only got about one box left each before they’ve covered most of the big things. They’re set to head out to lunch afterwards, as an official goodbye of sorts as they’re all parting ways today. Liam’s heading back home to Wolverhampton and Zayn and Louis are boarding their train to Paris in a couple of hours. They’d said goodbye to everyone else at the party except for the three of them. Liam had asked if it wouldn’t just be easier to do it then, while they did everyone else, but Louis had just caught him in a headlock with a hissed _won’t get rid of us that easily_ and they’d all laughed.

  


Harry lets himself be brought back to the present. Their voices flood his senses again, all of it turning sharp and the static fading out. The others have gathered in the middle of the room, Louis and Zayn leaving their spots by the window with only an ashtray and smell of smoke sticking to the room to speak for them.

  


“Harry, come here!” Niall shouts at him, beckoning him over with a wave of his hand. Harry mumbles a _yeah, i’m coming_ and drags himself across the room, his anxiety getting stronger with every step he takes in Louis’s direction. It’s spreading from his chest to the tip of his fingers and down through his legs, taking his body over completely.

  


Niall swings an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into his side when he arrives. Beside him, Liam and Louis are fighting playfully, the two of them going at each other with harmless punches and slaps. Zayn’s just standing around, watching the rest of them, zoning out like he does sometimes. He looks as if he’s trying to memorize it all, as if he’s painting a picture in his mind. Picking out the right shades of red and yellow to make the moment freeze just as it is right now. Harry’s seen him do it before, his face overtaken by an intense look. His eyes squinting, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly pouting, as if he isn’t aware he’s doing it.

  


Harry’s thankful for the distractions in a way, as it allows him to take Louis in. It’s been two days since they kissed and Louis’s leaving in a few hours. They haven’t spoken since, all of them nursing their hangovers the day before. Harry’s barely left bed, Niall doing the same, the two of them cuddling and watching old Disney movies together. He hadn’t heard from Louis and based on his behavior the next morning, Harry wasn’t expecting to. He still checked his phone every few minutes, Niall’s worrying looks not going unnoticed, but when he asked Harry about it, he just fed him a lie about waiting for Gemma to text and Niall shrugged it off, going back to _Mulan._

  


Louis’s standing in front of the window, sunlight hitting him straight in the face. It bathes him in a light glow, washing over his features so they’re illuminated. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, a stiffness to his posture that Harry’s never noticed before. He still manages to look relaxed though, the soft and sharp a striking contrast. His face’s laughing and his cheeks are puffed up as he bats at Liam’s shoulder, the sound of his laughter coming out clear.

  


As he observes Louis, he thinks about it’s so rarely you notice when something shifts, purely based on another person’s appearance. To a stranger they must look fine, normal, but inside their mind there’d be tornadoes and volcanoes erupting. All of it concealed under this carefully constructed mask we all put up. You let your eyes go unfocused, your mouth fall slack, your shoulders slumped back, the beat of your steps never faltering. You fade into the background, keep up your old behavior as to not let anyone know, to not have anyone ask intrusive questions you don’t know how to answer. Harry wonders if that’s what he’s been doing this entire year. If he’s been hiding in plain sight.

  


“Alright, settle down,” Niall says, releasing his grip on Harry to grab Louis’s shirt, tugging him backwards into a hug. Louis goes to protest, the words on the tip of his tongue, but Niall wraps his arms around his shoulders and nuzzles into his neck and Louis stills. For a second his eyes meet Harry’s, a beat of the last 48 hours playing out between them. A sadness pools in his stare, but as soon as it’s happened it’s gone. Louis turns around to face Niall, mumbling something that makes Niall laugh, a big grin plastered to his face.

  


Harry averts his gaze, feeling uncomfortable. He brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck, shuffling his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. The room’s still filled with the sounds of their voices. They’re loud, vibrating against the walls and spinning in circles around Harry, nestling themselves into his system.

  


“Hey, can we talk for a sec?” Zayn suddenly asks, startling Harry out of his thoughts. Zayn brings a comforting hand to place on Harry’s shoulder, the movement gentle and soft, just like the sound of his voice.

  


“Um, yeah, sure,” Harry replies sheepishly and Zayn shoots him a small smile. He nods toward the door and starts walking out of the room, Harry following behind.

  


Once they’re outside in the hall, Zayn makes sure to close the door behind them and leans against it. He’s got his body slumped, his hands crossed over his chest and his fingers are fidgeting, as if there’s the itch of nicotine lingering against his skin.

  


“So, what’s up?” Harry asks. He’s a bit confused as to what he’s doing here, why Zayn wants to speak to him. Zayn’s looking at him curiously, with a glint in his eyes, but Harry can’t make out what it means. A beat passes. Zayn doesn’t speaking, his eyes searching Harry’s face as if he’s looking for something before he blinks and is brought out of it. He pushes his hands into his pockets before his posture straightens and he goes to speak.

  


“Look, Harry, I know something happened between you and Lou.” He breaks off, allowing for the words to sink in and Harry can feel them seeping into him, taking root and swimming inside his mind.

  


“He won’t tell me what it is, hasn’t even brought it up himself,” Zayn continues, “but I _know_ him. _We both do_. He’s a bloody bastard most of the time, but when he’s upset there’s just something that changes about him, yeah. It’s like there’s this switch that goes on and there’s just something different about him, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it.” He stops, staring intently at Harry, who nods, not sure what else to do. He’s flooded by memories of Louis lying in the sheets the morning after, the soft look on his face when he’d first woken up, the sleepy smile he’d aimed Harry’s way and the way, with the feeling of skin on skin, he’d stiffened, his entire demeanor changing.

  


“He fucked up somehow and for whatever he did, I’m so sorry, Harry,” Zayn says, his words stabbing at Harry’s chest, making it hurt with every indication of _he fucked up_ being repeated in his mind. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I can, but you know-”

  


“We kis- We kissed,” Harry interrupts, his voice breaking though he tries to cover it up with a dry cough. Zayn’s face stills, his lips turning into a sharp line before he opens them slightly, but doesn’t speak, his jaw going slack. He quickly composes himself again and clears his throat.

  


“Wasn’t really expecting that,” he says, giving a small laugh, “but I’m not really surprised, if I’m being honest. Think we’ve all been waiting for you two to get your shit together for ages now.”

  


“Well, it’s not. We’re not- Together, you know,” Harry says, his voice wavering as he moves his gaze to the end of the hallway. He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, but he can’t meet his burning stare, his look filled with thoughts and words he doesn’t want to face.

  


“Oh, fuck. _Shit."_  Zayn brings a hand to run through his hair, his fingers brushing through the black strands. He keeps it there for a beat and just stares at Harry, the thoughts running through his head as they stand in silence. The conversation feels as if it’s still open, a wound that hasn’t healed yet, but give it time, Harry thinks bitterly. Maybe if he allows for the leaves to turn brown and fall to the ground and for the snow to cover them up, the throbbing in his chest will fade out, sync into the rhythm of his heartbeat and make it less noticeable.

  


He feels awkward still standing there so he goes to return to the room, taking a couple of staggering steps forward when Zayn grabs his elbow, circling his fingers in the crook of it and bringing Harry to a stop. Harry turns to look at him with a raise of his eyebrows and Zayn stares back, one of those that bores through his eyes, etching itself onto the back of his eyelids.

  


“He really misses you, Harry, you know. He pretends like he doesn’t, but he does. Don’t let him make you believe you aren’t as important to him as you were before all of this,” Zayn pauses and gives a small nod. Harry just blinks back at him, unsure of how to respond.

  


“He’s just a bit lost right now, thinks he has to prove something to himself. I don’t know, that he’s independent and doesn’t need anyone or summat. Don’t give up on him. He’s stupid and god knows he needs to figure his shit out, but he will, in time. Just give him time, Harry.”

  


With that he releases his grip on Harry and steps away from the door, allowing for Harry to walk back inside. He does so, Zayn’s words still playing on a loop in his mind. _Don’t give up on him._

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

The summer comes and goes and so does the heat and the cold, the rain and the sunshine. It’s the black and the white, the contrast on the spectrum of colors he’s feeling. It’s blue like the sadness pooling in his lungs, red like the anger flaming in his mind, green like the jealousy tugging at his heart and black like the darkness when it all becomes too much, too hard to think about. All he does is sleep, sleep for days because it’s easier than to think about the soft press of Louis’s lips against his, the way he’d tasted against his tongue, the way his skin had felt under the tips of Harry’s fingers. Because he remembers, of course he does, he remembers it all like it’s been printed across his skin. The ink spilled over every part of his body, taking him over so fully that his mind is a loop of _louislouislouis_ all day, every day.

 

Sometimes mum takes him out to the grocery store and afterwards he helps her cook, trying out new ingredients and playing music in the kitchen as they chop and stir. Sometimes Niall calls him and they spend an hour or two on Skype where he tells Harry about being back home, about seeing his old friends and his baby cousin. He tells him every detail of his day from the funny shirt he almost bought to the number of pints he had the previous night and when he asks Harry to tell him about his in return, he just hums. Niall prods and Harry gives a weak _i saw some friends_ because telling Niall he spent his entire day in his sweats, moping at home and binge watching _Amazing Race_ feels too depressing. Sometimes Gemma drags him along for a pub night with her friends but he feels too out of place sitting plastered next to one of her girlfriends in a small booth. He feels out of place when they ask him about his love life, nagging until he tells them with a drag in his voice that he’s single, but his face must show every emotion he tries to keep out of his voice because he receives a pat on the back and an _oh sweetie_ before he’s left alone again.

 

He takes long walks when he can’t sleep at night, when the stars shine too bright, too knowingly. They only bring him back to lying on rooftops, Louis’s body so close he could feel it burning against his own. He walks and walks until his feet ache and the sun starts peeking its head out over the horizon. He walks and walks until the trees begin to look alike and his footsteps disappear. Holmes Chapel’s good for long walks - all country side with its big fields and towering trees. It’s a good place to get lost in without the buzz of the big city holding him hostage. Here he can let his thoughts fly away instead of feeling them get trapped inside his mind, bouncing off the walls.

 

Some days when he feels himself loathing in self pity and misery he checks Instagram and looks up Louis’s profile. It’s plastered with photos of cities, places Harry can hear him talking about in his head. Paris with its echoing beauty, Madrid with the hustle of its streets, Rome and its ancient history. They’re all spread across Louis’s profile through filtered shots, every part of their trip so carefully documented as to say that these are memories they’ll only remember one day, but right now they’re still in present tense, something they’re in the midst of.

 

There’s some shots of the two of them clubbing as well. Those hurt the most to look at. Harry only clicks on them on the days he feels the worst. On the days he’s brought back to hazy memories of Louis’s mouth on his, the soft pressure applied and the way their lips had slotted together so seamlessly, as if they’d done it a million times already in another lifetime. The photos are grainy, black turned grey with flashing neon colors in the background and Louis stood next to unknown faces with a drink in his hand. He’s always got a big smile plastered on, but it looks worn around the edges, as if he’s been pretending for so long it’s become part of his new normal. His eyes don’t hold crinkles around them and it looks as if he’s trying harder than he should be with the alcohol taking him under and turning his eyes glossy.

 

The summer drags on, the days coming together with the repeating of routine. He goes up to London and sees Liam once. Niall’s back in Ireland for the entire summer but Liam’s home as well. The two of them meet up at a dingy pub and order rounds of pints as they fill each other in on their summers. Liam talks and talks, his stories blurring together as Harry zones out more than once, watching the streets outside their window. It’s a Saturday night. There’s the clatter of high heels against the pavement, there’s the echo of laughter as a big group passes outside. It’s half a dozen people walking close together, their arms brushing and voices loud as they try to make themselves heard above the cars passing in the background. They create a beat of their own, the honking and swooshing of the loud engines and tires turning, coming together as they rush past on the busy street.

 

Liam, just like Niall had, asks him about his summer with curious eyes, but Harry never knows what to answer. He doesn’t do anything, his days boring and never ending, they seem. He walks, he sleeps, he spends time with his family, keeping up this facade he’s let overtake his life. He knows they know something’s bothering him, their gentle words and soft gestures not going unnoticed, but they never ask and he doesn’t provide an answer. He repeats his standard reply of seeing friends to Liam, despite not having had seen anyone in weeks. Liam just gives him a warm smile and Harry changes the subject quickly, asking him about the girl he started seeing.

 

Suddenly it’s August and Harry’s packing his life together again, moving the things back into the same boxes again, piling the few books he took out and folding his shirts and trousers, before taping them shut and carrying them down the stairs. He places the boxes in the car and says his goodbyes. He hugs his mum, Gemma, Robin and gives them all variations of the same sentiments. _I’m going to miss you. I promise to call. I’ll try and visit more. I love you too._ Then he’s off, just him and his life packed neatly together in the trunk, driving to London again. Back to London, where every street is littered with memories of Louis, where every corner holds another word, another story, another thing he’s going to be reminded of once he enters the halls of school and starts another year.

 

+

 

They meet up at the pub down the street a couple of days later. Zayn’s back home and none of them have seen him yet since his plane touched down the previous day.

 

Harry arrives later than the rest, blames it on a meeting with his professor to discuss his coursework, when in reality he spent his time lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’d traced every bump, every shadow cast from the lamp, every stain he could find, his eyes drawing lines between the dots. It was a nice distraction of sorts, one that let the part of his brain that lives for patterns - early morning crosswords, suduko puzzles - come out and play. He makes it 42 minutes before he becomes restless, before his bones start to buzz and he starts checking his phone. There’s one text from Niall and two from Liam, all wondering where he is, despite the lie he fed them earlier.

 

In the end he let’s himself give in to defeat and tugs on a plaid shirt over his white t-shirt, stuffing his phone and keys into his pockets before he’s out the door.

 

Seeing Zayn’s weird. He greets Harry with a warm smile, one that lights up his entire face as he spots Harry walking through the door. He raises a hand in greeting, gives a small wave and Harry gives him a nod in return. Once he makes it over to their booth he’s immediately wrapped up in a big hug, Zayn’s arms around his shoulders. Harry returns it, albeit a bit stiff. He doesn’t let himself sink into his embrace, doesn’t let himself enjoy the warmth of Zayn’s skin against his, as he once would’ve. He just gives Zayn an awkward tap on the back before they’re breaking apart, distance being created between their two bodies.

 

He sits down and Niall slings an arm around his neck in greeting. He tries to tug Harry into his side but he scoots forward, busying himself with the beer they ordered for him. He lifts the glass and swallows once, twice. The alcohol tastes warm coming down. It’s gone a bit stale from the wait but it scratches against the walls of his throat, waking him up with every drop that makes its way through his body.

 

Niall retracts his arm slowly when left without a reaction and puts it on the table, leaning forward as he turns away from Harry and places his look on Zayn. He’s picked up the story he was telling them earlier, something about finding an antique bookstore in Paris with first editions of Fitzgerald’s works. His eyes are lit up, a small fire created within them as he speaks with every word, every sentence heavy of the passion he carries for books, for literature.

 

Harry let’s his gaze settle upon Zayn’s face. He looks older, more mature, as if the stories and adventures he holds have helped him grow into his skin, as if he’s more secure in himself now. He speaks like it, with stories of getting kicked out of bars and watching the sun rise after a night out. It’s like it all it took was for the two of them to hop on a train around Europe and let strangers become friends, ones they could explore and create memories with, for Zayn to have found this inner peace. The restlessness he used to carry around with him, the one Harry has come to recognize in himself, the one wanting to break out, is gone.

 

Zayn’s grown a full beard now, the light stubble he used to have before the summer gone. He scratches it while he speaks and when he sees Harry staring at it he gives a small laugh and explains he meant to shave it, but instead he ended up crashing on the couch as soon as he got the keys to his new apartment the night before.

 

“Yeah, when are we going to get to see your place, man?” Liam asks, nudging him in the side from where he’s sat on his right.

 

Zayn looks over and gives a small shrug in reply, accompanied with a shy smile. “Whenever you want, really. The place’s a bit of a dump now, haven’t got anything set up, but you’re free to come over anytime.”

 

“You’ve got everything moved in, though, right?” Liam asks, his inner mother hen emerging as it always seems to do around the five of them, Zayn in particular.

 

“Yeah, mum drove up a few days ago with the boxes. But I haven’t got anything unpacked yet, ‘s just sitting there.”

 

“No worries, mate, we’ll help you out, yeah,” Niall chimes in. He nods enthusiastically as Zayn raises his eyebrows and starts to protest, but Liam punches him on the arm and he gives in with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Thanks, I suppose. You know you don’t have to do that-”

 

“We _know_ , Zayn. We’re saying we want to. That’s what friends are for, idiot,” Niall interrupts, his voice fond as he speaks and takes a swig of his beer, downing half of it in one go.

 

“Well, thanks then,” Zayn says, his voice gentle and looks around, aiming warm smiles at all of them, even Harry. Harry gives him a weak smile in return, holding his gaze for one, two beats before he’s shying away, uncomfortable under the heavy weight of Zayn’s stare on him.

 

His skin is crawling, his pent up nerves getting the best of him. The pub seems to have grown louder during their exchange with it’s chatter of people, thumping music and the rhythmic sound of glasses being dragged against wooden tables. It’s as if his senses are flooded, everything getting heightened at once. He picks up on every scraping of chair, every loud laugh, every phone buzzing. It’s all wrapping around him, punching at him, making it hard to keep his eyes clear and the lump out of his throat.

 

Around him the others are immersed in conversation again. Zayn’s started in on another story and Liam’s chiming in with questions and Niall with positive encouragements (“ _That’s so sick, mate!”_ ). Harry wonders why he’s even here, what he’s contributing to the conversation, if his presence makes any difference in their eyes.

 

His mind starts spinning again, his eyes roaming around the room, picking up on small details he’s overlooked in the past. He’s got his head resting in his hand and his ankles crossed underneath the table to stop his leg from twitching. He loses himself in their surroundings for a bit, zoning out of the conversation being held around him.

 

He’s brought back Zayn mention Louis though. His head snaps up at the name being spoken, his focus back on the three of them. It’s a fleeting mention, nothing big, just something he told that was part of the story, but hearing his name, hearing him talked about in such casual terms when Harry’s spent his entire summer torn between ignoring his existence and letting it take him over entirely, is hard. Zayn speaks of him with a lightness to his voice, as if it’s _just_ Louis and not _Louis_ standing in bold colors with exclamation marks after his name.

 

Harry used to talk about him like that once, months ago when he wouldn’t let himself linger on touches that lasted a beat too long or looks that held unspoken promises. Back then it’d been easy, with the hiding of feelings, now it’s all a mess, complicated and hard. He doesn’t know where one feeling starts and another one stops, how he’s supposed to figure it all out inside his mind. He doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pick up and begin untangling, where it’s going to lead him if he does. He doesn’t know if he wants to find out.

 

+

 

“What does this one do, again?” Liam says as his hand emerges from behind the tv, holding a red cable in it.

 

“You connect it to the one I was just showing you,” Niall replies from where he’s sat on the couch, absentmindedly munching his way through a bag of crisps. He’s got his feet propped up on the newly put together coffee table and he’s scrolling through his phone with his other hand.

 

“Which one?”

 

“We literally _just_ went over this, mate, how’d you already forget it,” Niall says, his voice remaining calm as he speaks. He doesn’t look up though, just pops another crisp into his mouth as he’s met with a deep sigh from Liam.

 

“I’m so confused, Niall.”

 

“Just take the bloody cable and connect it to the round thingy I showed you five minutes ago,” comes Niall muffled reply around another dozen crisps.

 

“There’s, like, five different round things back here, you’ll have to be a bit more specific, y’know.” He’s out of sight, but the eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed by the tone of his voice. “Can’t you just come and help me. I’m so confused.”

 

“Alright, hold on, one sec,” Niall replies as he quickly stuffs the remainder of the bag into his mouth, fitting a surprising amount of crisps in, before he brushes the grease off on his trousers and stands up. He tosses his phone on the couch and walks over to Liam and begins to help him, Liam’s _thank yous_ echoing across the room to where Zayn and Harry are stood in the connected kitchen.

 

It’s a couple of days since they’d met at the pub and they’re all over at Zayn’s new apartment, helping him unpack. The room’s littered with boxes, some of them opened and emptied already. They all hold words written in sharpie across them, things like kitchen, bedroom, clothes, all marking different aspects of their new adult lives.

 

Zayn and Harry are currently unpacking the fancy plates Zayn’s mum had gotten them as a graduation gift, saying they were old enough to not eat off of paper plates anymore. Knowing Zayn and Louis though, Harry’s not sure the plates will come to much use, but it’s still a nice gesture. A very _mum_ gesture.

 

The air in the room’s light, the four of them working in nice harmony. They’ve all settled into a  rhythm during the hours they’ve been over already. There’s soft music coming from Zayn’s laptop that’s propped up on the kitchen table, floating through the room, into every corner and spilling through their bodies. There’s Niall and Liam’s bickering from the living room. There’s the faint vibrations of the street outside. It’s still summer and it’s been a surprisingly warm one this year. They’re all wearing t-shirts and tanktops despite it being August and that the remainders of summer should be fading into autumn already. Soon the rain will be back and they’ll all be wearing knitted sweaters and their wellies but for now there’s heat spilling through the open window. Zayn hasn’t got an ac, his flat far too dingy for such luxuries, but he’s got a small fan bought from the ninetynine pence store down the street that’s buzzing from its placement on the floor. It’s not doing much, but its noise helps Harry settle down, helps him stay grounded when his mind is swimming.

 

“Looks like that’s the last one,” comes Zayn’s voice from behind him, bringing Harry out of his thoughts.

 

“Huh?”

 

“That was the last plate, we’re all done with the kitchen now,” Zayn says as he nods toward the cupboard where they’d been stacking plates and laughs at the confused look on Harry’s face.

 

“Oh, right,” Harry deadpans. He must’ve been out longer than he noticed, carrying out the motions of putting the plates on the shelf out on reflex.

 

“You hungry?” Zayn asks as he turns around, not waiting for an answer and picking up the now empty box. He carries it over to the pile of cardboard boxes they’ve got stashed in one corner of the living room, ready for Zayn to dispose of once they all leave.

 

Harry scratches his neck awkwardly, his eyes watching Zayn walk back over to where he’s now leaning against the counter. He goes to stand beside him and nudges their hips together. “Harry, you alright, mate? You seem kind of out of it today.” He laughs, but his eyes are painted with worry.

 

Harry shakes his head, blinking his eyes roughly a couple of times so the momentary haze creeping up around the edges of his vision disappears. “Yeah, I’m fine, just didn’t sleep too well,” he replies, his voice coming out a bit thin. Zayn doesn’t comment even though Harry sees how his eyes linger for a beat too long. Instead, he places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze, the warmth seeping through layers of clothing and into Harry’s skin.

 

“Alright then, so how about we get some pizza to wake you up, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Harry says, forcing his lips into a weak smile. His dimples don’t come out, but he tries to keep the corner of his lips up until Zayn’s retracting his hands and walking into the living room. Harry hears him call out for Liam and Niall, asking them the same thing, and doesn’t bother telling Zayn that he doesn’t do much of sleeping nowadays, not really. How can he when all his dreams are flooded by big waves crashing against the shore, the water painted the color of Louis’s eyes, haunting him even in his dreams where’s left to the darkness, his safe space flooded with unwanted thoughts of memories he’s trying his best to forget?

 

\--

 

They’re sat around Zayn’s newly put together kitchen table, all of them placed in white plastic chairs. They’re old and worn around the edges, property of the previous tenants. They’d left them on the balcony in too bad of a condition to take with them to their new place. Zayn had picked them up instead. He always did hold a love for old things and the way you’re able to turn them into new ones so easily. Maybe that’s why he’s an artist, Harry thinks - because they’re able to take something mundane, something painted a million times and renew it with the colors they use, with their brush of strokes, with the way they look at the object and see it as something new, something they can reinvent with the help of a blank canvas.

 

The others are bickering about pizza toppings - Liam claiming he didn’t order his with pepperoni on top and Niall claiming he did, that he clearly heard him utter the words, Liam disagreeing. It’s a back and forth going nowhere. They’re talking to hear their voices make noise, to pass the time along, all of it useless and boring in the sense that it doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s a distraction to make it seem as if with every tick of the clock there isn’t seconds being wasted and spilled, being used for nothingness.

 

Zayn’s humming along on Harry’s left, throwing in an offhand comment every now and then to spur the discussion on further. He sounds as bored of it as Harry is, but when Harry finally looks over there’s a small smile shining across Zayn’s face. His eyes are following the movements of Niall and Liam’s hands as they talk, their words reduced to background noise. The brown in his eyes is speckled with gold, a brightness to them that lifts his face, makes it glow with the colors of the sun setting outside the window. He looks happy, at ease, and there’s a longing tugging at Harry’s heart, one that’s reaching out and asking for the feeling to take root in Harry as well. He longs for the languid movements that come with it, the way he could sit around and watch his friends talk about things that wouldn’t matter in the morning, but still feel as if he was floating through the clouds. All of them surrounding him like a faded haze, but the words and actions glowing like the sun peaking through, a strike of lightning amidst the muted colors.

 

He’s awakened, his thoughts running off in different directions, breaking apart, as Zayn’s phone rings. It’s on vibrate and placed on the table in front of to them and when it rings, the entire table buzzes with it. Harry’s fingers are resting atop the wooden surface and the static jumps of electricity creep underneath his fingertips and dance to the beat.

 

Zayn picks up the phone, the conversation dying down as he glances at the screen. “It’s Louis.”

 

Niall and Liam let out cheers, urging Zayn to answer the call, but he just looks at Harry, their eyes locking. He doesn’t say anything but he’s the only one Harry’s told about the kiss, the only one that really knows, even if it’s just such a small fraction of it. His eyes hold the words _is it okay_ , a beat and then they seem to shift into _are you okay_ and that’s a question Harry doesn’t hold an answer to, so instead he takes a deep breath and says, “Pick up.”

 

Zayn keeps his eyes pinned on him for another beat, the phone buzzing in his hand before he breaks their stare and slides his thumb across the screen, answering the call.

 

He puts it on speaker, so they can all hear the static coming through the phone. A second passes, the only sound heard the noises passing in the background. It’s as if he’s on the street, the rumblings of cars and voices mixing together to create a loud soundtrack, before there’s a small cough and Louis’s voice calling out, “Zayn? You there?”

 

They all echo their answers, different versions of _hello_ spilling through their mouths and through the phone and to Louis.

 

“You’re all there?” comes his voice. It’s hard to make out with the static cutting it in half, making it sound shaky.

 

“Yeah, all of us!” Niall replies, his voice beaming to match the big grin that’s intact on his face as he stares down at the table, his eyes glistening with happiness.

 

“Sorry, the reception’s kind of shit here. I can barely hear you,” Louis says. His voice sounds distant, his loud surroundings drowning it. It’s as if the distance can be heard through the phone, as if the miles of land and ocean stretching themselves between them is there in the way his voice falters a bit, in the loud noise coming from the street around him, all of it carrying through the phone.

 

“It’s kind of hard to hear you too, mate. Where are you, anyway?” Liam jumps in, the rest of them staying silent as a beat passes, the sound of a car passing spilling through the loudspeaker.

 

“I’m in Porto at the moment, just for a bit more. But I dunno where I’m off to next,” he says and laughs. The sound is so light, just like Harry remembers it but it echos empty to his ears, as if Louis’s keeping up a facade of _i’m alright_. As if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is them.

 

They’re all buying it is the thing, they’re all listening to Louis talk, listening to his words and stories that buzz through the phone with grins plastered to their faces, asking him questions in return. They’re all accepting that he left, the he walked away without looking back, without sending so much as a text, so much as a shitty postcard. He walked away and none of them asked why. They didn’t ask why he stuck around despite promising to return with Zayn, why he’s in Portugal of all places. Why he isn’t back.

 

Hearing his voice, the accent that’s less prominent, the way he wanders off in his stories, getting distracted and jumping onto another one without finishing it - all of it screams of distance and unfamiliarity. Harry doesn’t feel as if this is his Louis, the one he used to connect himself to, create a _harryandlouis_ that beat as one, that was a _them_. This is someone else, someone that speaks in patterns he isn’t used to, whose words he can’t trace and follow with the tip of his finger. They’re friends turned something more turned strangers. It’s a path he never saw them heading down and the realization that this was inevitable - a static phone call from thousands of miles away, hits him like a breath stuck in his throat, one that clogs up his airways and won’t let go.

 

“I-I have to go,” he stutters out as he pushes his chair out and grips onto the table, his fingers circled around the edge to steady him. He feels woodchips crawling into his skin from how hard he’s pressing down, but doesn’t care. They’re just another invisible scar scattered across his body.

 

“Harry, are you al-” Liam starts, but he breaks him off with a muttered _i’m fine_ as he backs away from the table. He walks across the living room in five big steps before reaching the small balcony and opening the door and is met with a gust of fresh air.

 

He closes the door and leans against it, his legs giving out as he sinks to the ground. He’s thankful he can’t be seen from the kitchen, their worried looks too much for him to handle right now. He bends his knees and pushes them against his chest. Wrapping his arms around them, he holds on tight enough that his fingernails press half moons into the fabric of his jeans, strong enough for the pattern to be inked onto the skin lying underneath.

 

The soft breeze soaring through the air punches at his cheeks, painting them pink from the blush that’s creeping up over them. It’s ticking into night and he’s a bit cold in only his t-shirt, the material too thin to shield him from the heat turned cold. He hugs himself tighter in response, hoping that the skin that’s still buzzing with warmth from inside can transfer itself through his body.

 

Louis’s voice is playing on a loop in his mind, the static and the rush of the street surrounding him, all of it reminding Harry of the ocean of distance created between them. He’s too tired to shut it out, to pretend as if this isn’t affecting him, as if the lingering touch of Louis’s skin against his isn’t ever present. As if the faint brush of Louis’s mouth pressed against his isn’t there when he touches the tip of his fingers to his lips, a ghost whisper that crashes against them with every touch. As if he isn’t so in love with him that every bone in his body feels weightless in Louis’s presence, even his voice making them echo with the memory of being with him. As if he’s coping, as if he’s on his way to becoming his own person again, someone separated from Louis, just Harry.

 

As if he doesn’t miss him.

 

+

 

School picks up and it serves as a nice distraction amidst everything else that’s keeping his mind busy. It offers him classes and coursework to focus his attention on, to keep him occupied. If he’s busy writing essays and attending lectures, he has less time to think about Louis and to check his instagram franticly for any new photos he might’ve uploaded. It’s his third year and he’s already drowning in work, but for once he doesn’t find himself complaining about it.

 

August is fading into September, the leaves changing colors and the wind picking up. The heat’s gone and their shorts and thin t-shirts have been replaced with sweaters and jackets to shield them from the cold. It’s raining a lot, as it always seems to be doing in England, but Harry likes it, the rain splattering against his umbrella as he walks to class, with his headphones in his ear and [ music  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdQdcuW_YeE) spilling through them. It’s calming. He always find it’s easier to breathe when he has something to match his heartbeat to. He used to match it to Louis’s, when they were pressed close and he could feel the beating underneath his ribcage, but he’s gone now. The rain serves as a good alternative, the drops falling in quick succession, almost as if they’re following an invisible beat of _onetwothree onetwothree_.

 

The weather seems to mirror his mood in the way it shines through shades of grey. It’s gloomy and all of the colors seems to become muted, the vibrant streaks of light that shone through them during the summer gone as the wind swept over the city and took them away with it. It’s fitting he supposes,in the way he struggles to smile and keep up appearances, all if it a black tugging him down.He knows Niall and Liam have caught on. He hasn’t told them yet, but they’re not oblivious to the dark cloud above his head that follows him wherever he goes. If Niall is streaks of yellow shining through and Liam steady like the orange of the falling leaves in Autumn, then he’s a sullen dark grey with bits of black speckled amongst it. It’s hard not to miss, really.

 

He distances himself from his friends the best way he can - he denies their offers to go out to the movies, to go to the pub, to go out to eat. Whenever they call him up, he comes up with another lie about how he has to study, is tired, isn’t in the mood. He repeats himself so many times that Niall starts calling him out on with a muttered _tired again are you_ whenever he tries to explain why he can’t go with them to Zayn’s.

 

It’s not that he’s avoiding Zayn per se, but Zayn’s knowing eyes are too exhausting for him to handle. He feels as if Zayn’s asking him questions and demanding answers he can’t give, answers he hasn’t let himself figure out yet because they hold too much weight and leave him feeling too bare. He can’t go over to Zayn’s and hear him talk about Louis, the others always asking him if there’s any news, about where he’s currently at. When everything he’s running from catches up to him in the blink of an eye just by him walking through the door to Zayn’s apartment, it’s always easier to stay back. It’s always easier to take the simpler way out and give a half assed lie, not bothering to make it sound convincing anymore, all of it just so he can ignore the pooling anxiety in his chest for another second.

 

+

 

Harry’s lying on his bed, his cheek pressed to the soft fabric of the pillow and his body pliant and seeping into the mattress. He’s exhausted from a long day of classes and he’s happy blowing off some steam, letting himself relax. It’s one of the dark days as he’s started calling them in his mind, when everything seems dull and worthless. He’s struggling to stay afloat above the surface, his body sinking down down down, reaching for a bottom he can’t feel. Everything seems to drag on, every lecture, every word spoken had felt as if it was neverending and he’d spent the entire day struggling to keep his eyelids from drooping shut and for his mind to stay focused.

 

He’s got Kodaline playing in the background, the soft murmurs of [ _ take my body take my body  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqJoVlnmdFQ)soothing him to sleep when Niall walks in. He does so with a harshness to his steps, stomping against the ground, making it vibrate underneath his shoes.

 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he says when he spots Harry eying him curiously from the bed.

 

“Um, yeah, just got back from class a bit ago,” he replies, giving Niall a nod in greeting as he walks further into the room. “I was just thinking about ord- _Hey!_ ” He’s quickly cut off by Niall going over to the docking station placed on the window sill and pausing Harry’s music. “I was listening to that.”

 

“Harry, mate, I love you, but I swear to god, if you make me listen to that fucking album one more time I’ll throw your iPod out the window and watch it smash to the ground.” Niall crosses his arms over his chest and props his hip against the desk when Harry shoots him an disgruntled look, his eyebrows furrowed together and lips turned downwards.

 

“Listen, we get it, alright. Louis is all you want, I get that, Liam gets that, I’m pretty sure our entire fucking hall _gets it_ by now.” The tone of his voice is impatient but there’s a smile tugging on the corner of his lips and his face is relaxed, no annoyed stare in sight.

 

“I never said it was about hi-” Harry goes to protest, but is cut off once again but Niall’s voice.

 

“We’re not stupid, Harry,” is what Niall settles on. His words are harsh but they come out wrapped in softness, dampening the sharp edges surrounding them. He turns around and dumps his bag on his bed and kicks his shoes off before settling against the wall, his body turned toward Harry.

 

“I don’t know what happened and you don’t have to tell me, I’m not asking you to, I’m just saying that if you gotta be all sad and moping at least change the music around will you.”

 

Harry just huffs in response, not sure what to say. Hearing it stated so blatantly, just thrown out into the air as if it isn’t this thing eating him from inside, hollowing his bones and making it hard to go about his days, feels wrong. He’d call him out on it but it’d lead to questions he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t know how to explain it, all of it so jumbled together in his mind, the feelings making his thoughts go fuzzy around the edges.

 

“Oh and before I forget, we’re going out on friday,” Niall pipes up from his side of the room. He startles Harry out of thought and doesn’t wait for his answer before he continues, “just the four of us.” He’s got his computer in his lap now and is lazily scrolling through some website and not paying Harry any attention as he aims his words at him.

 

“Oh,” is what Harry settles on. He’s still lying down in bed and he curls his knees up towards his chest and wraps his arms loosely around them, hugging them close to his body. The closeness radiates warmth and heats him up in their autumn cold room.

 

“You can’t get out of this one. I’m serious, Harry, you’re coming with us.” Niall looks up from his computer, their eyes meeting and he cocks an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at his lips as he does so.

 

“I wasn’t going to do that.” He sounds like a stubborn child, his lips jutted out into a pout and a whiny tone to his voice but Niall just laughs.

 

“Sure you weren’t, mate.”

 

Harry sticks his tongue out at him and Niall mirrors him, the two of them spending a full minute making silly faces at each other from across the room before they both dissolve into giggles.

 

“ _Idiot_ ,” Niall mutters and Harry laughs again. He feels a bit lighter like this, when his laughter isn’t forced and it provides a streak of color to his muted days.

 

“I’m serious about Friday, though. Liam said to be done by nine and then we’re heading out, so if you’re planning on sticking your head out the window and catching a cold or summat - _don’t,_ alright.”

 

Harry just rolls his eyes but Niall pins him with a stern look so he gives up with an exaggerated sigh and a muttered _fine,_  loud enough to carry to where Niall’s perched on his bed.

 

He’ll try, he supposes. He could use some alcohol flowing through his system and a shitty hangover the next day, anyway.

 

+

 

It’s Friday. They’ve been at the club for fifteen minutes now, the four of them squeezed together in one of the booths lining wall. They’d met up earlier in the night, doing shots in Harry and Niall’s room before they’d headed out to ride the tube to the club. The streets had been packed with people, the late evening crowd rushing to get home while the early night crowd was rushing to get going. It’d been such a contrast, the people in their pressed suits and swinging suitcases mixed with the clattering heels against the pavement and bare legs despite the chilly wind wrapping the cold around them.

 

After the long tube ride, the four of them standing amidst an ocean of strangers, their bodies pressed close to theirs, they’d arrived at the club. It’s as loud now as when they’d entered, the bass filling up the room with hard thumping bouncing off the walls. There’s a dancefloor in the middle of the room where people are swaying their hips and grinding on strangers. They’re all drunk, drunk on the alcohol and the courage it gives them in return. They’re plastered to each other’s sweaty backs,hands gripping their hips and mouths on their necks. It’s a sea of bodies mixing together, their skin burning with the taste, with the touch of each other.

 

Niall arrives with four drinks balanced in his hands, his long fingers gripping the glasses tight so they don’t fall. He makes his way through the crowd from where he’d been at the bar and sets them down on the table, shooting them all a wide grin. His eyes are a bit glassy, no doubt from the couple of sips he’s already had of his pint.

 

“Here you go, lads!” he shouts, his voice coming out thin from the loud music spilling through the room. He gestures to the glasses and takes a seat next to Harry, swinging an arm around his shoulders. He circles his fingers around the glass, bringing it to his lips and taking a big sip from it.

 

Harry mutters a weak _thanks_ , his mouth moving but the sound of his voice getting drowned out as he mirrors Niall. He grabs his glass, the drink sloshing around inside of it a soft yellow under the flashing neon colors. There’s a pink umbrella stuck in it too, and he picks it up, careful not to stab himself with the pointy end before turning to Niall and sticking it behind his ear, the pink standing out against the strands of blonde.

 

Niall places his glass on the table and turns to Harry, his grip on him tightening so Harry’s drawn closer to him, slotting into his side. A wide grin spreads across Niall’s face as he thumbs at the umbrella, holding it between two of his fingers and twirling it so the pink gets lost in his hair.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, mate,” he says, his mouth so close to Harry’s ear that the words nestle themselves under his skin. They hit a bit too close to the core. He knows Niall doesn’t say them to be spiteful, that his words hold no trace of anger, but he still feels guilty. He’s completely disregarded his friends for the past few months and closed in on himself. He’s been so lost in his own thoughts he’s neglected to see how his behavior is affecting those around him.

 

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he says back, just as big of a smile on his own face. His dimples are pressing craters into his cheeks and there’s crinkles by his eyes and for the first time in a long time, it feels genuine. It feels real and honest.

 

The knot in his chest eases up a bit as they sit there grinning at each other, only getting interrupted when Liam shouts for them to toast. Harry laughs and Niall’s cackle echoes in his ears as they line their glasses up, clinking them against one another before Liam gives some half assed speech, his words slurring already and they all shout _cheers_ before downing their drinks.

 

With some more alcohol in his system he feels his limbs loosening up, his body going more slack with each sip he takes, with each ounce of alcohol that makes it into his system. He slowly feels himself growing more and more drunk as the night carries on, with each new drink that’s pressed into his hand.

 

He isn’t keeping track of the time anymore, his phone long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans. He let’s himself be guided by the heavy music thumping at his ears and the flashing colors that fill his vision. He’s swaying in his seat, his eyes closed blissfully, just letting the music take him under. The bass is vibrating against his chest, so heavy he feels it with every breath of air he inhales. The beat’s fast and dirty, something you only find in clubs, never leaving the four walls its lined with. It’s like the music can only exist within this room, with its sweaty bodies and alcohol induced minds. As if it only makes sense in here.

 

Zayn and Liam are sat next to him, their murmurs carrying above the music but Harry doesn’t care enough to let himself pay attention to the course of their conversation. Niall wandered off some time ago and he returns now, a big grin plastered to his face. Harry wonders if he ever stops smiling.

 

“Harry, hey, you alright, mate?” he asks, laughter in his voice as he slides into his former spot, next to Harry in the booth.

 

“‘M good,” he replies, turning to Niall and flashing him a smile. It comes easy now, as if he’s underwater - the motions slow and languid but something he feels with every cell in his body as he moves.

 

“Can see that, you look a bit spacey,” Niall says and laughs once again. Harry feels a responding laughter bubbling in his chest, the feeling of floating taking him over as he let’s it spill through his mouth.

 

“Feels fuzzy,” he says as he shuffles closer to Niall in the booth and nuzzles into his side, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

 

“‘M sure it does,” he replies and drapes an arm around Harry, cuddling him closer. He brings a hand to pet at his curls, something Harry’s never been shy about loving. It’s even better when he’s like this, the alcohol flooding through his bloodstream. He hums into Niall’s neck in response and gets rewarded with a small pat on the head.

 

“So, I wanted to talk to you about something, ‘s that alright?” Niall hesitantly asks and Harry’s feeling himself slip further into that warm and hazy headspace of his so he just nods, his skin dragging against Niall’s.

 

“Yeah? Cause I was thinking about this whole Louis thing-” Harry’s smile washes off his face in the beat of a second and sobers him up, Niall’s word hitting him hard. “Relax,” Niall ushers, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He squeezes, his fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of his shirt. He looks down and pins Harry with a look, his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. Harry waits for a second to pass, their eyes locked together before he let’s the momentary panic slowly seep out of his body. He tells himself that he wasn’t prepared, that it’ll be okay.

 

“Alright, so I was thinking- And stay with me here, yeah. It’s been a couple of months and just, you need to get out there. Meet new people, shag some strangers, get it all out of your system. Like, I’m not telling you to move on-”

 

“Sure sounds like it,” Harry mutters under his breath, his eyes trailing away from Niall’s own and settling on the large crowd of dancing bodies huddled together in the middle of the room. He can feel his skin itching in discomfort but still he stays locked in Niall’s embrace, not shying away.

 

“Hey, Harry, no, I’m not telling you to move on, because despite my longest relationship being a month, I get that that kind of thing’s hard. You don’t just go out there and _move on_ , it doesn’t work like way. But I am telling you that you can’t keep going like this, you can’t keep sitting in your room like some fucking zombie not doing anything, letting this control your life.”

 

Niall squeezes his shoulder once more and Harry allows for the words to seep into his mind, for himself to really take them in and understand their meaning. He looks over at Niall who’s eyeing him intently. “You can’t let this control you when he’s out there wandering around Europe fucking strangers left and right. It’s not an even playing field.”

 

In some fucked up way it makes sense, he thinks. He’s been so intent on being sad about the whole situation he never let himself be mad. Not the morning after, not after not hearing from Louis for months, not when it’s as if their friendship ceased to exist. He wrapped it all up in sadness and stored it inside his heart, choosing for it to be something he burdened himself with instead.

 

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” he finally says and when Niall’s entire face lights up and he starts babbling in Harry’s ear, he feels a flicker of anger spark in his chest and take root. Maybe it’s time he let himself be angry for once, he thinks as he feels the heat pooling in his body flow into his bloodstream and fill him up. Maybe it’s time he allows himself to let something else but the sadness in.

 

\--

 

Niall introduces him to a guy at the bar some time later. He’s been chatting up guys for Harry all night but this is the first one that seems remotely interesting. He’s telling them about his job, something in accounting, something boring. His voice is deep, a bit monotone as he goes on and on about numbers and what not. His hands are extended between them, moving as he keeps talking. Niall’s asking him questions and Harry nods along. He’s trying to pay attention but the guy has been talking for ten minutes and the story doesn’t seem to be ending.

 

He can feels Zayn’s stare burning holes in his skin from where he’s still sat in the booth, talking to Liam. He doesn’t let himself look over but it’s as if the intensity of the Zayn’s glowing eyes carries across the room, leaving scars all over his body. He doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps on nodding as if he isn’t aware of Zayn following his every movement.

 

Niall leaves some time later and Harry’s brought back to the current by the guy, name still unknown, placing his hand on his shoulder. His touch is gentle, a bit questioning, and Harry ignores the instinct screaming for him to pull back. He tries to ease into the touch but his mind is running comparisons between the length of their fingers, the softness of their skin, the warmth of their touch and he ignores his aching heart throwing these thoughts around, these thoughts of Louis. He shifts his body so he’s got his weight leaning on his right foot and pops his hip out and angles his upper body so it’s facing the guy.

 

He plasters on his widest grin, the one that makes his dimples pop and flashes his teeth. There’s a voice in the back of his head reminding him about how Louis used to call it smug with a laugh in his voice, but he pushes it away as he drags out every charming bone he’s got in his body. He’s laying it on thick, being obvious in every sense of the word with his echoing laughter and soft eyes aimed at the guy. He’s eating it up, flirting back at Harry with just as much force.

 

Harry loses himself in it. This is something he’s good at. He knows how to charm people, how to make them like him and open up to him. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t really care for the guy in front of him, how achingly aware he is of how he’s just a replacement, a mere shadow of who he wishes it was. It isn’t so much about pulling as it is about proving to himself that he still can, that the sea of blues etched onto his eyelids and the fluttering memories of the past two years flowing through his mind don’t mean anything. He can do this, he can be his own person. Niall’s word of how he needs to move on, how he can’t let this thing control his life echo in the back of his mind as he let’s out another laughter, pushing the sound out of his body and gives another fake smile.

 

So it’s with Zayn’s burning stare on his back that he pins the guy against the wall and crowds into his space and presses his lips against his. Their chests are pushed together and Harry’s got his hands placed on the wall as he let’s their lips slot together again and again, capturing them in a series of kisses. He’s drunk, his vision foggy, the guy’s features already a dissolving memory in his mind. He lets his eyes droop shut as he presses closer closer closer until their bodies are aligned. The guy’s got his hands placed on Harry’s hips, clutching onto the belt loops of his jeans and his fingers trailing the skin from where his shirt is riding up.

 

Harry knows this touch, this stolen moment of intimacy in the dark corner of a club full of strangers should make him feel _something,_ but his mind is spinning on a loop of the way Louis’s lips had tasted against his. How they’d molded into one and fit together in sync to their own heartbeats, chasing that high they got from being around each other. This guy tastes of beer, his breath stale and his lips too sharp against Harry’s soft ones. They don’t fit, they’re two unmatched puzzle pieces trying to push themselves together and with every kiss, every touch it’s as if the blue just becomes _more_ , his foggy vision drowning with every press of lips against his.

 

\--

 

Later in the night he’s had another couple of drinks and his world is going under, his mind getting lost in the surface. His legs are moving on their own accord, his fingers gliding over the walls as he stumbles forward along the corridor. There’s bright fluorescent lights filling it up, sharp against his clouded vision from the dark of the club. The light is white and it washes over him, makes him blink his glossy eyes a couple of times to take in the narrow path ahead of him. He walks ahead on wobbly legs, plastering himself close to the wall as people pass him, until he reaches the door to the back alley of the club and pushes outside into the chilly night.

 

There’s a couple of people stood huddled together, their bodies close to shield away from the cold. They all share cigarettes over shaky fingers, their voices low as the music is subdued to a distant throbbing once the door closes. His eardrums aren’t exploding here and he finds himself savouring the sounds of cars passing on the empty street next to them, closing his eyes and letting it wash over him.

 

He walks over to one of the benches and sits down next to Zayn who’s got a cigarette in between his fingers, taking long drags from it every few seconds. He inhales and exhales, the smoke flying out of his mouth disappearing into the dark of the night. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, the two of them sat in a painted silence, their ears flooded by the voices of the people around them. They sit close enough for Harry to feel the warmth from Zayn’s body seeping into his skin, warming him up from where the bare skin of his arms is perking up into goosebumps. He can smell the smoke, can see it flow through the air in his peripheral and being outside sobers him up from the heavy thumping and the flashing lights.

 

“Who was that guy?” Zayn finally says. He doesn’t look over at Harry, just stares blankly ahead as he takes another drag from his cigarette, another intake of smoke flowing through his lungs.

 

“Don’t know. Doesn’t really matter,” Harry replies slowly, giving a small shrug as he speaks. And it doesn’t. He doesn’t care for the guy, never did, never even bothered to find out his name. He was always just a distraction, something to occupy his senses with as he pushed their bodies closer and allowed himself to walk further into the fog, the alcohol taking him under and breaking him down with every passing minute.

 

“Then why were you kissing him?”

 

Harry sighs, his thoughts spinning in fast circles as he tries to find an answer to Zayn’s question. “You heard Niall, I have to move on, be my own person and all of that.”

 

It’s a weak answer, one he doesn’t buy himself, but he doesn’t know how utter the thoughts floating through his mind. How to make them sound the way that they feel, how to put words to the beating inside his chest, how to convey the spectrum of feelings he feels when someone mentions Louis’s name. How to explain it all.

 

“Do _you_ want that, though?” Zayn asks and he makes it sound so simple with the way the words slip off his tongue with the smoke spilling through his mouth.

 

Harry wishes he knew. He thinks that all of this, this entire mess he’s living in, would be easier if he did.

 

“I don’t know what I want.” He pauses and let’s his eyes trail along the brick wall across from him. He traces the cracks and where the different blocks meet, lets the patterns paint his vision. He counts the beats that pass inside his mind in tune to his eyes following the maze created on the wall. _One, two, three, four._ He takes a deep breath, the air landing in his chest and pressing down hard for a second before he exhales, his entire body sagging as the air is released and he says,  “I’m tired, tired of all of this, these feelings and this situation. Just… tired.”

 

Zayn hums, taking one last drag before he flicks his cigarette butt to the ground and crushes it underneath the sole of his shoes. He stands up and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans before he looks over at Harry, their eyes meeting for the first time since he stepped outside. It’s a charged stare, one the sends flickers of electricity between their bodies. He can trace the flashes of pity, of sadness in his eyes, the emotions mixing with the golden hazel already there.

 

Another beat passes, another car passing on the street outside, the loud sound of its engine carrying through the walls of the buildings surrounding them. Another laugh echoes across the small space, another cigarette is lit and it’s like it’s all suspended in the air for a fleeting moment when Zayn finally breaks their stare and turns around to walk inside again.

 

“You know, you told me to wait for him,” Harry says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he’s registering them himself. He pauses, let’s the words hang in the air, the weight of them not going unnoticed by either of them.

 

Zayn slowly turns around, the upper half of his body once again being angled towards Harry as he gives him his full attention. “The day you left. Told me I should give him some time, to figure it out, as you said,” he continues, his eyes taking in the sharp cuts of Zayn’s face. He’s got his eyebrows furrowed but his eyes are soft, the warmth in them shining through despite the dim lighting of the night. “Do you remember?”

 

Zayn nods, a barely there movement of his head that would go unnoticed if Harry wasn’t so fully focused on him. “I do.”

 

They both stay still for another moment, another minute ticking by with neither of them speaking, the tension suspended in the air as they both give in to the thoughts spinning inside their minds.

 

“I think it’s time I stop,” Harry finally says. Speaking the words feels like the weight off his chest is crumbling down, the ashes spreading through his body, making it easier for him to take a full breath. The one he needs to finally push the words out, the ones that’ve been brewing inside his heart.

 

“I’ve been waiting for him since that first night we met, you know. I was stupid, kept thinking he’d bring it up, that something would happen, just anything, but it never did.” He flickers his eyes to the hands resting in his lap, letting a beat pass before he collects himself again and says, “I think it’s time I let myself stop waiting.”

 

“Do you think that’ll make you happier?” Zayn asks slowly, his voice wary, carefully wrapped around the words he’s speaking.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry says, giving a small laugh, but the sound breaks in half, his voice trembling. “I just know that I’m tired and that it hurts too much and that I want for it to stop.” He looks up, locking his stare on Zayn’s once again, his hands still fiddling in his lap. “I think I owe it to myself to at least try.”

 

“Okay,” Zayn says and gives him a small smile, one of the corners of his mouth twitching up and Harry pushes his lips into a thin line, his nose scrunching up and he attempts one of his own. It comes out weak, but he thinks that, in time, it might begin to feel strong again.

 

+

 

Harry feels as if declaring that he’ll try, that he’s going to do better, should be some eye opening moment. In movies it’s always followed by a series of shots where the main character is seen getting their life in order to an upbeat pop song playing in the background. It’s not reality, though. There’s no magic streak of colors to brighten his days, to remove the dull shades that have overtaken it. There’s no catchy song playing and there’s no skip in his step as he walks to class. But he does feel his heart lighten up. He feels the tight knot of anxiety that’s been living in his chest ease up. It’s not gone and he doesn’t think it will be for a while, but his breaths come out easier, nothing getting stuck in between anymore. He tries to smile more, even though he sometimes has to push the corners of his lips up, but every attempt, every time he finds himself barking out a laugh is a win in his book.

 

So he’s not fine, but he’s better. He’ll get there eventually, he figures, the voice in his head optimistic as it repeats the words over and over again.

 

He thinks getting better isn’t always the big steps, sometimes it’s telling a stupid pun and hearing Niall laugh at it, a glint to his eyes that reminds Harry of how it used to be - the five of them sat around in a circle on the floor after a long week, sharing stories about their days with each other. Sometimes it’s treating himself to that shirt he’s been secretly wanting for weeks and sometimes it’s deciding to meet up with Zayn at the coffeeshop from around the corner from campus.

 

That’s also when he finds out, when Zayn opens his mouth and speaks the words that’ll break out the hurricane that’s caught in his chest once again, the one that he’s been slowly fading away.

 

They’ve been sat making small talk for about twenty minutes, their conversation holding nothing of substance. They haven’t seen each other since the night at the club, the air between them a bit stifled ever since. It’s as if something shifted and Harry doesn’t know how to react, how to behave according to it, so he hasn’t. He indulges himself in his work and is stitching his life back together piece by piece instead, slowly creating the whole he once managed.

 

Zayn’s sitting in front of him now, playing with the spoon in his tea, just running it in circles. His tea’s cooled off but he’s got his stare pinned on it, ignoring Harry’s questioning eyes. There’s a lull in the conversation and neither of them has spoken for a few minutes when he says it.

 

“Louis’s back.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

With the words spoken he feels a breath being pushed out of his chest, making his shoulders sag and his mouth fall open in an unspoken reply. He takes a moment, playing the words on a loop in his mind before he flickers his eyes across Zayn’s face. He searchs for his stare, but Zayn keeps looking down on his tea. The circling motion is soothing, a bit hypnotizing as Harry keeps his eyes locked on it too for a passing beat while he tries to calm his breathing and sort his thoughts out.

 

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to tell you,” Zayn says and looks up. His brown eyes are open wide as they meet Harry’s. The corners of his lips are quirked downwards and the lines of his face soft but with something else attached to them, sadness perhaps.

 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Harry asks, coughing to cover the hitch in his voice. It makes him seem vulnerable and he stiffens his posture and keeps his head held up high, his stare unfaltering.

 

“Because I didn’t know how’d you react.” Zayn pushes his lips into a thin line and shrugs his shoulders. His eye’s are warm, the brown turning golden in the flickering sunlight making its way through the big windows of the coffee shop. It washes over his face and smoothes his features out with the brightness of it.

 

“You’re trying and I didn’t want to ruin that with this, I guess,” he continues, his voice wary as he speaks. It’s as if he’s balancing on a tightrope, as if he’s speaking to a small child, one wrong step and it’ll all come shattering down.

 

“It wouldn’t be your fault if it did, Zayn.”

 

“I know.” He gives another shrug and Harry aims a small smile his way, his eyes going soft when he sees Zayn visibly relax at his gesture.

 

“So, why’s he back?” He finally pushes the words out, the one’s that have been creeping around the corners of his mind for the past few minutes, hiding in the shadows as he focused on other aspects of it all. As he’s been trying his best to ignore them.

 

“He says he’s done, that he’s grown tired of it all.” Harry nods understandingly and Zayn gives a small smirk before he tacks on, “Also, I’m pretty sure he’s out of cash.”

 

Harry laughs at that, his chest vibrating and his dimples creating craters on his cheeks as he does so. It feels light and he stores the feeling in his heart, wrapping around it and letting it fill his bloodstream. Zayn gives him a knowing look, one that seems to approve of the momentary flash of brightness across Harry’s face and Harry flickers his eyes to the table for a fleeting second, aiming a small smile at it before he looks up once again.

 

“He’s at his mum’s back in Doncaster, right now,” Zayn continues and Harry hums in reply, taking the words in and twisting them around in his mind, searching them for everything they’re worth.

 

“When’d he get back then?”

 

“Just a couple of days ago, said he didn’t want me to tell you right away,” Zayn replies sheepishly, ducking away once Harry’s head snaps up at his words. He pins his stare back on his tea, picking up the spoon once again and continues to stir it.

 

“ _Why?_ ” His eyebrows furrow and hisä voice comes out sharp, the tone laced with feelings of betrayal and confusion all wrapped up in one.

 

“Didn’t really give me an answer when I asked, just kept telling me to promise not to tell you.”

 

“Oh,” Harry says and brings a hand to scratch at his neck, his nails dragging across his skin, making him feel the faint red marks being created in the process. He doesn’t really know what to make of this newfound information, what to make of every turn that keeps popping up. It’s as if with every step forward he’s knocked down and forced to reevaluate the situation all over again, Louis’s behavior too inconsistent and confusing for him to wrap his mind around it.

 

“Well, I’m glad you did,” he settles on.

 

“Thought you should know.”

 

“Thanks.” Their eyes meet and they both smile. Despite Louis’s behavior and the question marks that seem to follow him, they still have this. Harry still has his friends and he’s grateful that he didn’t manage to lose them in the midst of the mess he and Louis have become. He’s thankful for their hugs, for their soft words, for their warm stares even when he feels like closing in on himself. When the walls become too comforting for him to let down, they still stick around. They’re still there with their hands around shoulders and movie marathons and jokes that make him smile when he feels himself going under. He still has them, even though he doesn’t have Louis anymore.

 

+

 

Knowing that Louis is back leaves Harry with a weird feeling in his chest. He can’t seem to shake it no matter how hard he tries and it’s as if with every passing moment, every passing day it just stretches itself wider, taking more of him away with it. The words _louis’s back_ are constantly playing on a loop inside his head, Zayn’s voice never leaving him alone. It flows through his mind in tune with his spinning thoughts, nestling itself in between them to push to the front of Harry’s mind. Always there, always reminding him of how Louis’s only a train ride away from him and that soon he’ll be back. He’ll be back in Harry’s space, the one he’s managed to reclaim for himself in the passing months and it’ll be as much Louis’s again as it is his own.

 

The realization that he’s going to have to spend time with Louis, be around him, the two of them breathing the same air, is unsettling and worrisome. He’s barely managed to string himself back together just to have Louis rip him apart again with all of his being, his shining enigma and star littered skin. Harry doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act around him, how to breach on the something they once shared and pretend it never existed. He doesn’t know how to feign casualty and as if his heart isn’t beating rapidly in his ribcage at merely the thought of being in Louis’s presence again. He doesn’t know how to act as if Louis’s isn’t everything he’s been trying his hardest to get away from. How to see him, how to meet his stare and give him a smile. How to pretend it isn’t breaking him down inside with every taken breath, his organs collapsing and his mind becoming a tornado with its whirlwind of emotions.

 

He’s hearing Zayn’s voice again, repeating the words over and over again, when Niall startles him out of his thoughts by throwing a pillow at Harry. Luckily he manages to snap out of it quick enough to duck his head and watch the pillow to bounce off the wall, landing further down on his bed.

 

“ _What the hell, Niall,_ ” he hisses, furrowing his eyebrows and shooting Niall an annoyed stare.

 

“You did the thing again, had to bring you back.” Niall just shrugs, his expression bashful as if he hadn’t nearly blind-sided Harry two seconds ago with his flying object.

 

“ _The thing?_ Please be more vague, will you,” Harry scoffs.

 

“Y’know, when you zone out and stare dramatically at the wall and shit,” he replies. He goes to illustrate exactly what he’s referring to by clutching a hand over his heart as he gazes at the wall, his face gone slack and his eyes widened. He brings his other hand to his forehead and dramatically falls back on his bed in a faint, sighing the word _louis_ in a high pitched voice as his head lands on the comforter.

 

“ _I don’t do that!_ ” Harry says as soon as Niall sits back up again and cackles in response to the scandalized look painted on Harry’s face. “Niall! _Stop_!”

 

“You do, mate. ‘S okay, though, it’s cute.” He gives another loud laugh and Harry just rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest and mumbles _piss off_ , loud enough for the word to carry to Niall across the room. Niall just laughs more and his eyes seem to sparkle in the light coming from the sun shining outside. His skin is mapped out in constellations and he just looks so _happy,_ is the thing. He always does. So when their eyes lock and Harry’s flooded by the sheer joy radiating off Niall he ends up giving in and grins wide enough for the dimples to pop on his cheeks and for his eyes to crinkle.

 

They carry on a bit of conversation after that, a few minutes passed in light words thrown back and forth before Niall brings it up again. The conversation has reached a natural end and Harry has just whipped out his phone and is scrolling through his twitter feed when Niall coughs awkwardly, grabbing Harry’s attention. He sets his phone down on his leg and looks over at Niall. He cocks his eyebrow as he asks, “Is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah, ‘s fine.” Harry nods once before his eyes flicker down to his phone again, going back to reading a tweet, but he can still feel Niall’s stare boring holes through his skin from the other side of the room.

 

“Um, can I ask you something, though?” Niall says a few seconds later. His voice is laced with hesitation and he speaks slowly, a stark contrast to the light tone it usually carries.

 

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

 

“Liam told me about Louis, y’know, being back.” Harry averts his look as soon as Niall utters the words, the implication of his gaze becoming too clear all of a sudden. He fidgets with the phone in his hand, running his fingers along the back of the case in rhythmic patterns, tapping out the fast banging of his heartbeat.

 

They lapse into a few seconds of silence after that, the air having had grown heavy with the words spoken and the meaning attached to them. Niall finally breaks it again by saying, “Have you talked to him?”

 

Harry almost wants to laugh at his question because of course he hasn’t. _Why would he._ What would he even say if he did, ' _hey louis we haven’t spoken since you kissed me that one time and i don’t really know what we are anymore but how’s life’._ Yeah, he’s sure that would go well.

 

“No,” he replies instead. He says it slowly, the word followed by a silence stretching itself wide across the expanse of the room, creating an ocean of distance between them.

 

“Well, why not?” Niall prods and he’s up on his feet now, walking over to Harry’s bed in one, two, three big strides before he plops down opposite Harry. He crosses his legs and leans forward on his elbows, eying Harry intently.

 

“Because… It’s just weird between us.” He shrugs and doesn’t bother explaining further instead opting to pin his stare back down on his hands, Niall’s eyes a bit too demanding, too intrusive.

 

“Harry, mate, I love you and I know I told you to get over him, but don’t you think you need some kind of closure, that you need to talk to him and figure this shit out together?”

 

“I don’t know how to talk to him,” he confesses, his voice coming out barely above a whisper in the quiet of the room.

 

“What makes you think he does?” Harry looks up and Niall purses his lips into a thin line and gives a half hearted shrug. “Maybe you’re both as afraid.”

 

He leaves it then, just gives Harry a slap on the shoulder before he changes the topic quickly, asking Harry about what take out he’d like to get. Niall’s rattling off places from the list on his phone but it’s as if the words float right through Harry, never taking root. He zones out, thinking about what Niall had told him and for the first time in a long time, he let’s himself think about Louis’s side of things. How he saw it all, what thoughts rushed through his head, what he’s doing right now, how he’s coping. If he’s sat in his childhood bedroom, thinking about Harry as much as Harry is thinking about him. If he misses him just as much Harry misses him, the feeling ever present, as if it nestled itself into his bloodstream and has become part of him now, unable to shake from his system.

 

+

 

A couple of days pass and Niall doesn’t bring it up again, pretending as if the conversation never happened. He changes the subject every two seconds, always rattling off new information, new stories he’s managed to pick up, sharing them with Harry. He goes about his days easily, never prodding at the big lump wrapped around Harry’s heart. And Harry’s thankful for it, wishes that he could forget all about it but Liam sends him knowing looks whenever they meet and Zayn opts for casual, but Harry sees the way he’s so careful about everything, about the words he speaks to him, how he behaves in his presence and he can’t stand it. It’s all suffocating, making him feel like a prisoner trying his hardest to get out.

 

When day five of their pleading looks and words that lie on the tip of their tongues comes, Harry gives in.

 

He decides that he’s done, he can’t it anymore.

 

So when they’re standing in line at the movie theater and Liam casually mentions Louis, he speaks up. Liam thinks he’s being so subtle about it, not even meeting Harry’s sharp stare, just looking straight ahead as they take another step forward in the line.

 

“Did you hear about the new Marvel movie that’s coming out? I bet Lou would love it, wouldn’t he, Zayn?”

 

Zayn just hums in reply, obviously not paying attention to whatever it is Liam’s talking about, but still indulging him. But Liam, it seems, isn’t done. “So, how’s Louis then? Haven’t spoken to him in a while, huh.” Harry just suppresses an eye roll at his words, scoffing quietly at how transparent he’s being.

 

“You can drop it, y’know,” he says out loud, pinning his stare on Liam as he does so. The words come out sharp, no teasing tone behind them.

 

Liam looks over, feigning casualty with his eyebrows raised in question as he meets Harry’s eyes. “What?”

 

“You’re not exactly subtle, Li.”

 

Liam gives a small laugh at that, a cut off sounds that come out a bit too stiff to pass for relief. He brings a hand to scratch at his neck and avoids Harry’s stare sheepishly. “Guess I’m not.”

 

“I’m still not going to talk to him, though, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

 

They take another step forward, the two of them falling behind as Zayn goes to join Niall in the front, sensing that they need some privacy. He snags some of Niall’s popcorn which earns him a light slap on the shoulder and indignant squeak from Niall, the sound carrying to where they’re now stood a few feet behind them.

 

“Why not?” Liam asks, his features once again scolded into the serious tone the conversation carries. His eyes don’t hold their knowing look but it’s more of a soft, curious one that’s taken its place. The conversation seems to have shifted into him asking Harry rather than demanding his reply.

 

Harry just shrugs, still, after months and months, trying to figure out the answers to their questions. He wishes there was some tell-all manual helping out, ‘ _how to make your friends happy’_ or something equally as cheesy.

 

“It’s not that easy, Li. I can’t just call him up out of nowhere, it doesn’t work like that.”

 

Liam abruptly stops and Harry looks over, confused as Liam just stands there staring at him, the queue around them coming to a halt.

 

“Doesn’t it, though? I mean, you always speak about how confusing it all is and I get that. But _why_ is it so confusing, Harry?” He pauses, his tongue darting out to lick his lips before continuing. “You’re both so bloody stubborn and I don’t get it. It’s obvious you like him and that he has some pretty messed up feelings for you too, but why aren’t you willing to give this a shot?”

 

He leaves it open but Harry doesn’t know what he wants him to say, so he stays quiet and Liam picks up the thread of the conversation again. It seems as if he isn’t done, as if he has more to say on the subject.

 

“Is it so bad, that maybe, just _maybe_ it’ll all work out and all of _this,”_ he makes a vague gesture with his hand, his voice having had lowered significantly so it just barely reaches Harry, “could end. Is it really worth giving that up?”

 

Harry never replies, their conversation coming to an end when it’s their turn at the register, but Liam’s words nestle themselves into his system, weighing him down with every breath he takes. He carries them around all day, flitting in and out of conversation, his eyes never staying focused for too long. Everything keeps moving around him, but he can’t seem to shake them off. The words rattle his bones and send electric shocks through his entire body, making him stay awake and ponder their meaning. He sits in the movie theater, the action unfolding on the screen but he spends two hours with the blurry colors flickering across his eyelids, never settling down.

 

All he seems to be able to think is: _is liam right?_ Is he majorly fucking up because he’s afraid, because he’s too scared about what might happen if he _does_ talk to Louis that he instead chooses the safe road, chooses to stay within his own comfort zone? And above all, is it worth living the way he is now - miserable, trying his hardest to get away from it all and revert back to the light he once lived under - just because of that? Is it really worth not taking that blind leap and hold himself back because of how things might unfold if he does, even if those things might make him come out a happier person?

 

+

 

It’s 10:15 when Harry finally decides to do it.

 

He’s been staring at his phone for the past two hours, turning it in his hand, his fingers floating above the screen, never touching down. He’s had Louis’s contact open so many times he’s lost count, just to give up every single time and lock his phone. He’s tossed it on his bed, been a beat away from clicking the call button, watched the numbers on the screen tick away into the night, always being too afraid to go through with it.

 

Niall’s out again, probably at work. He didn’t tell Harry when he left, just gave him a wink as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and slammed the door shut behind him. It’s been a few hours now and Harry’s all by himself, but it’s nice, he thinks. It’s oddly calming in the way that there’s no knowing eyes keeping him trapped when he’s doing this. He doesn’t know how to lay himself so bare in front of other people, how to open himself up and show them everything he’s tried his hardest to keep locked up.

 

He watches the big numbers on his screen turn once, twice before he finally unlocks his phone and it’s with a hammering heart beating inside his ribcage that he opens Louis’s contact and clicks on the call button before he can change his mind.

 

Slowly, he lifts the phone to his ear and listens to the signal ring out. The blood rushing through his ears is drowning everything out, the sound coming out muted. Everything feels suspended in air as he listens intently. The phone rings exactly four times before there’s a beat where Harry contemplates hanging up, doing it quickly, just like when you rip a bandage off - fast and painful, before Louis picks up.

 

He sounds out of breath, the sharp sound of him exhaling quickly a few times against the static of the phone before he says, “Harry?”

 

His voice comes out a bit muffled, but Harry can’t tell if it’s just him or not, because _he picked up_. Louis didn’t ignore his call, he chose to hear him out, to give _whatever_ this is a try and the beating of his heart significantly picks up as soon as that thought crosses his mind. It’s beating hard, the _ta-thump-ta-thump_ shaking his entire body.

 

“Harry, are you there?” Louis repeats and that snaps him out of it. Louis’s voice sounds so small, so insecure as he utters the words and Harry takes a deep breath, settling himself down before he goes to answer.

 

“Ye-Yeah, I’m here,” he replies. “Sorry,” he tacks on as an afterthought, not really sure what he’s apologizing for.

 

“Oh, yeah, ‘s alright,” Louis says back, his voice sounding a bit relieved as he speaks, as if just hearing Harry’s voice has managed to ease him up.

 

It feels awkward, stifled and Harry doesn’t really know what to say. They’re still stuck in the beginning stages, trying to rebuild what they once had and he doesn’t know where to start, where to grab footing and push off from.

 

“So, how are you?” he finally settles on, deciding that that’s a good place. That’s a standard question, isn’t it? You ask people how they are all the time, right? You meet someone at the grocery store and ask them, you meet someone at a family reunion, you even ask the janitor as you pass him in the lobby. It’s casual, it’s _fine._

 

“I’m, uhm- I’m alright,” Louis replies, but it comes out entirely too shaky and it brings back memories of the phone call from Porto when they’d all been sat around Zayn’s newly assembled kitchen table and heard his voice for the first time in months. It’d struck Harry then how it was as if he was putting up the facade of being fine, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as everyone else. It’s like that now - his voice coming out too insecure for it to pass as plausible, the question marks behind the word invisible, but still as much there.

 

“And, you? How are you?” Louis continues.

 

“Oh, I’m go-” Harry starts to say but is cut off by a loud banging coming from Louis’s end of the phone. It’s background noise but it’s still clear enough for Harry to pick up on and stop speaking. Louis sighs and mutters a weak _one sec_ before he moves the phone away and Harry hears the thumping of him descending the stairs. It stops after a few seconds and Louis seems to put his phone down because all Harry can pick up on are thrown away words as he yells at someone. The tone of his voice isn’t angry though, it sounds fond, as if he’s trying his best to hold the upper hand, but is failing miserably.

 

Another few seconds pass, the shuffling of Louis’s feet against the carpet heard and then sound of a door clicking into place before Louis exhales, the sound vibrating against the static.

 

“I’m sorry about that. ‘S just the girls, you know how they can be.”

 

Harry feels the corners of his lips quirk into a smile involuntarily as he hears Louis speak about them. He always sounds so light when he does, as if they fill him up with a love so strong he can’t keep it out of his voice. Harry’s seen him interact with them countless times and it’s always accompanied with gentle touches and soft words, his eyes holding crinkles around the corners as he keeps his stare pinned on them. He loves them so and Harry feels a small pang of jealousy tug at his chest when a flash of memories passes through his mind, memories of how Louis once used to talk and look at him like that.

 

“How are they?” he asks, genuinely wondering.

 

“They’re good, yeah. Lottie and Fizzy are growing up, pretending they’re too old to care that I’m home, but mum told me they missed me,” he pauses to give a small laugh at that and Harry can practically see the way his lips stretch wide and how his cheeks push up. “The twins are good too, that was them just now. ‘S past their bedtime and the little monkeys won’t get in bed. Thought they were being all sneaky too, waiting until I was gone to turn the movie back on, as if I wouldn’t be able to hear the tv.”

 

Louis laughs and Harry goes to join him, the sound spilling through his mouth before he’s registering it. It’s as if a big weight is lifted off his chest, making it a bit easier for him to breathe. He can feel his shoulders dropping, his stiff posture loosening up with every second he spends talking to Louis, every passing minute easing the tension that’s been stuck between them.

 

“I’m glad to hear that. I know you probably missed them,” he replies, the ghost of a smile still stuck on his face as he does so.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Being away…. It was just hard, I guess,” Louis trails off, the end of his sentence left wide open, waiting to be filled with all the words sitting on the tip of his tongue, left unspoken.

 

Louis’s words hit him like a bullet in the chest, throwing him off. The smile slips off his face, his eyebrows furrowing and he feels his heart tense up, his mood doing a 180 in the blink of a second.

 

He finds himself nearly spluttering at his words because _hard_? It was _hard_?

 

Louis wasn’t the one sitting at home, waiting for so much as a fucking post card that never came and here he is saying that exploring new cities under flickering lights and a silver moon casting shadows across the street, meeting new people, letting them explore him in return, was _hard._

 

Harry wants to scoff at how ridiculous it makes him feel but the lump in his chest is growing again, tugging him down with it so he keeps his mouth shut, letting a second pass between them in silence, neither of them speaking.

 

“So, how was it then, Europe and all of that?” he finally asks, but his voice sounds bitter as he speaks, as if he’s barely pushing the words out. He knows Louis can pick up on it because another beat passes before he gives a small cough.

 

“It was alright, nice to see some new places,” he replies sheepishly, his voice careful, as if he doesn’t want to overstep.

 

“Good.” It’s sharp, it cuts through the line, the word heightened by the static surrounding it.

 

“Har- Harry, are you oka-” Louis goes to say but stops abruptly, as if he caught himself in the act, managing to suppress what he was about to do. As if he regrets it and Harry feels it pushing at his chest, the way Louis seems to be squirming away from it all, the way he always does. He runs and runs, never looking back, just leaves them all to the aftermath of his tornado, leaves them to a city of ruins.

 

“Fuck, I’m not _okay,_  Louis.” He spits the words out quickly, throwing them out before he can think them over and choose to be afraid. “Don’t you _get that_ , don’t you get that _I’m not okay_?”

 

He takes a deep breath - inhaling exhaling - his chest rising and falling quickly, just fueling him on further. “You just _left._  You fucked off and you didn’t even care and I don’t know how you expect me to be fine with that, how to pretend as if that wasn’t a thing that happened.

 

“You can’t just sit here and talk to me about your sisters and laugh and try for it to be okay between us when you threw all of that away when you left for Europe and didn’t look back.”

 

Harry finally stops speaking, feeling all of the air that’s been trapped in his lungs for the passing moments being released all at once, his entire body going lax. His hands are still shaking where they’re gripping the phone tight. He can feel his knuckles whitening and he goes to wrap his other hand around his thigh, pressing his fingers into the fabric of his jeans. He’s got such a strong grip he can feel half moons being pressed into his skin, despite the layers of clothing.

 

“I do… I do care,” Louis finally says, his voice coming out no louder than an exhaled breath.

 

Harry tilts his head back, feeling it hit the wall and the small thump that goes with it. He closes his eyes, focusing on the steady beating of his heart to anchor him down and clear his mind from the fast spinning of his thoughts.

 

“I didn’t mean that, I know you do,” he replies as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back to help him find some kind of semblance of stability.

 

“I didn’t ‘ _fuck off’_ Harry, we- We had a plan to leave, you know that.”

 

“Then why didn’t you come back with Zayn, why did you stay another two months without so much as a word to us about it?”

 

He just feels tired now, the anger seeping through his body and being replaced with a heaviness in his bones that tugs him down and makes it hard for his eyes to stay focused. He’s just so confused, doesn’t know how to make sense of it all. He thought that talking to Louis, hearing his side of things would help, but it’s just left him even more scattered than before.

 

“I was going to, but… Just seeing you again- I didn’t know how to deal with that, I guess.” Louis says slowly, as if he’s trying his hardest to convey what he’s feeling into the words he speaks, as if by choosing the right set of letters to pin together he’ll be able to voice it properly and make it easier, somehow.

 

“And you thought that what, you’d just be able to postpone it forever?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out so cruel, so sharp, but the words are out before he can run them through his brain-to-mouth-filter.

 

“I mean, kind of? I wasn’t really thinking, to be honest, just wanted to ignore it for a while longer, I suppose.” Louis sounds sad, his voice laced with a strange heaviness to it, one that makes Harry push his lips downwards and give a small sigh, hating himself for doing that to him.

 

“So what made you come back, then?” he asks, hoping Louis can hear it in his voice how sorry he is, how much he wants for things to be okay between them again. He wishes he could diffuse the tension, erase the wall that’s been towering between them and turn back time to when they were lying on his bedroom floor, laughter bubbling up in their chests at something so mundane it’s gotten lost inside the walls of his mind.

 

“I, uhm, guess I just got tired of running.” Harry hums, not offering an answer at that, sensing Louis isn’t quite finished yet.

 

“I think I just realized that sometimes, no matter how far away you choose to run from your problems, that it doesn’t mean they cease to exist. They’re still back where you started, waiting for you.”

 

“That’s a good point,” Harry agrees, nodding his head. “Did Zayn have to lend you some of his fancy books for you to figure that out.”

 

Louis immediately laughs and Harry follows suit, the sounds of their laughter mixing together to create mismatched symphonies. They come together so seamlessly, as they always have. Two pieces of an unfinished puzzle waiting to be paired together and slotting into place once they are. The faint sound of a _click_ can be heard in the back of his mind and he can practically feel the tension that’s been trapped in the air being diffused at the sounds spilling from their mouths.

 

“I really missed you, y’know,” Louis quietly confesses. His voice comes out barely above a whisper, travelling through the line, for Harry’s ears only.

 

“I really missed you too,” he replies.

 

They stay on the line for another few minutes, neither of them speaking, just the sound of their breathing filling out the space between them. But unlike earlier it’s calming now, a faint shadow of how it once was, when breathing the same air was the easiest thing in the world, never a hint of awkward sneaking its way in between them. They’re not there yet, they’ve just taken the first staggering steps towards figuring all of this out. They’ve picked up a piece of the string and started untangling it from the mess it’s been living in. There’s still questions to be answered, questions to be asked. But knowing that they’re not stuck in the place they once were, that they’re creeping forward, feels good. It’s a comfort he hasn’t felt in a long time and he thinks that it’s a start.

 

+

 

After the phone call he feels light. The sadness that’s been dragging him down for the past months has started to diffuse and he feels it easier to take full breaths again, the hard weight that’s pressing down on his chest easing up. He doesn’t feel tied down anymore, a sinking anchor in the sea of feelings he’s been slowly drowning in. He feels as if he’s floating higher and higher up, his head getting lost in the blurriness of the clouds surrounding him.

 

They start talking again.

 

It’s as if the phone call has served to get some things out in the open, neither of them holding back as much anymore and it’s easy. _Easier._ They talk every day now, just like they once did. Harry’s almost constantly glued to his phone, typing out messages to Louis about his day and every little thing that fills it. Louis’s just as eager, always replying quickly, neither of them letting the other one hang on for too long.

 

It feels as if they’ve reverted back to the early stages of their friendship, before it all got confusing and feelings got in the way, back when it’d just been the two of them ready to take on the world. They’d been attached at the hip, the two of them drifted into a unit of _harryandlouis._  It’d been so simple then, just echoing laughter and big grins plastered across their faces. They’d filled with the naivety that comes with the beginning of a friendship, where you let yourself get wrapped up in the other person, everything new and exciting. Everything about them equal parts amazing and interesting, something you long to hold on to.

 

It’s like that now, he thinks, with their giddy texts and the smile that never leaves Harry’s face as he goes about his days. It’s earned him a few curious looks from the other lads but when they ask him about it he just shakes his head, ignoring their questions. He figures that they’re probably on to him by now with the way they’ve stopped begging him to talk to Louis and their offhand comments about how glad they are to see him look so happy again. He just smiles then, a warmth spreading through his body at their words and grips his phone tighter in his hand, counting down the days in his head until Louis returns.

 

He’s been staying with his mum and siblings in Doncaster for the past few weeks but claims he’s ready to come back to London and his shared flat with Zayn now. He’d told Harry through a text sent at four in the morning, Harry on the brink of sleep and his eyes drifting shut, only shooting up when the phone in his hand had vibrated. He’d quickly skimmed over Louis’s text, a smile spreading across his face at the words. He’d read it twice for good measure, just to store it in his heart. Louis was coming home and a small voice at the back of his head told him that maybe, just _maybe_ Louis was coming back to him too.

 

\--

 

_I’ll be there in ten minutes xx._

 

It’s been exactly thirteen minutes since Louis’s text and Harry’s freaking out.

 

He’s perched on the edge of his bed, his knees drawn up, flush against his chest and his head resting atop them. He’s holding his phone in front of his face, staring at it intently, waiting for another text to come through.

 

He tries to keep his breathing even but he can hear how hard his heart is thumping and the small puffs of air that keep spilling from his mouth. They seem loud in the quiet room. It’s just him in here, Niall out again. He’d left about an hour ago, when Louis’s first text had arrived, a simple _almost there xx_ that had left Harry gaping at his phone, his skin prickling in anticipation for what was about to come. He’d just stared at it, reading it over a couple of times before Niall had come over, his head peering over Harry’s shoulder to read the text. He’d given him a tight hug, whispering a _go get him_ in Harry’s ear before he was clearing out of the room, leaving Harry alone with the anxiety pooling in his chest and his staggering breaths.

 

The thing is that, they haven’t really discussed what's about to happen, what’s going to play out once they finally meet. Their feelings are still floating in the open space between them, but he knows on some level that Louis likes him, that he’s as invested in the _whatever_ they could be as Harry is. He knows this isn’t one sided pining anymore, that they’re finally both on the same page. He knows that there’s potentially a relationship in this, a something they’re open to explore. He’s so utterly sure about it, feels it in every cell of his body.

 

He’s reeled back into reality when there’s a loud knock on the door and Harry shoots up instantly. It’s as if his body is reacting before his mind does because he finds himself on his feet, walking towards the door while a second knock comes through. It’s rapid, a fast beating of knuckles against the door. _It’s Louis._

 

He takes one, two, three steps towards the door before he comes to a halt, just taking a moment to breathe - inhale, exhale - as he stares at the door.

 

He’s kind of terrified, because it’s been months and a part of him is screaming about how different everything is, screaming as if it’s a bad different, one that’s going to tear them even further apart and ruin the remaining bits that they have. But the more rational part of him, the one that isn’t filled with insecurities and isn’t the darkness flooding through his veins, tells him that this is what he’s wanted for so long. Louis’s standing on the other side of the door, just a piece of wood separating them and suddenly it feels so stupid to be stood here pondering about what might happen when it’s really inevitable now, isn’t it. The story has finally caught up to him and he’s _here,_ in the present with Louis just a few of steps away.

 

So it’s with his pulse hammering in his ears and shaky fingers that he finally opens the door and is met with a grinning Louis on the other side of it.

 

He’s got his lips pushed into a thin line, stretching itself across his face, just like he does when he’s trying to supress how big of a smile he’s got on. His eyes are electric blue under the fluorescent lights of the hallway, standing out against the tan he’s acquired while away. He’s got some light stubble as well, letting himself get lazy with it and not shaving. It’s secretly Harry’s favorite look on him, the slight burn of it whenever they touch something he uses to anchor himself down when his head starts spinning too fast around Louis. He looks good. Really good. And Harry realizes all of a sudden just how much he’s missed him. It’s one thing to miss the version of Louis he’s got in his mind, the one with memories attached to them and another one to have him right in front of him, flooding his senses.

 

“I’ve really missed you,” he voices out loud and watches the smile break out over Louis’s face, his lips finally relaxing and showing his teeth.

 

“I’ve really missed you too,” Louis replies, an echo of the parting words from their phone call.

 

They stand there for a few more moments, just staring at each other, time slowing down around them as their eyes stay locked for a couple of loud beats. They both seem to move on their own accord when they come crashing together, finally meeting in the middle, something they’ve been trying to do for so long.

 

Harry’s arms come to wrap around Louis’s smaller frame, winding them around his waist and clutching hard to the fabric of his shirt. He leans down and nuzzles his head into the juncture of Louis’s neck, resting it there as he let’s himself give in. His shoulders drop and he feels the tension he’s been keeping trapped inside his body slowly seeping out. It flows out of his veins, no longer part of his bloodstream. Louis puts his arms around Harry’s shoulder, nudging their bodies close together until they’re pressed chest to chest, their hearts beating in sync as they stand their with their bodies molded together.

 

It’s a flicker of a memory of how it used to be, months ago, but Harry thinks that maybe he doesn’t need those memories anymore, not when Louis’s here in his arms again.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Louis whispers into Harry’s skin, his face pressed into his shoulder. His words are so quiet and intimate, just for Harry.

 

“I’m sorry too,” he replies, tracing the words onto Louis’s back with the tips of his fingers. He writes them over and over again, hoping that with every curve, with every twist, they’ll sink into his skin and make Louis understand. Understand that he means it with every cell in his body. He fucked up and maybe they both did, but he just hopes that they’ll come out of this with healed battle wounds, instead of the open scars littering their bodies.

 

When they finally let go, when the suspended moment shatters they stay close, their faces just inches apart. They ease up their grip on the other one, their arms going pliant and loose after the tight hold they’d been in, but their chests stay pressed together, the two of them still in their bubble, still _harryandlouis_. Louis leans forward and presses his forehead to Harry’s so that they’re still connected from head to toe. They stay like that for another lost minute, just breathing the same air, inhaling and exhaling in the same breath.

 

“I think we should talk,” Harry murmurs, his voice coming out low, so quiet it’d get lost in any other moment, but Louis’s eyes flutter a bit more awake, signalling he picked up on them and he nods.

 

“I think we should too.”

 

So they retract their arms, letting go of the other one as Harry closes the door, giving them the  privacy the moment deserves and they go to to sit down on his bed. They stay close, as if their bodies are magnets, coming together with the force of electricity tying them together. Their knees are pressed against one another and Harry can feel the warmth spilling through Louis’s skin like this. He can pick up on every nervous shake, every twitch of his leg and goes to place his hand on Louis’s thigh, just a light touch to ground him. Louis looks over at the movement and Harry gives him a bright smile in return, watching Louis’s eyes flicker a bit more securely at the gesture, giving him a small smile back.

 

“So, talk,” Harry says, his face scolded into a serious look and he nods, his eyes locked intently on Louis’s.

 

Louis laughs in reply, his eyes crinkling together and the sound hitting Harry from how close they’re sitting, washing over him and making him float a bit higher, the effect Louis has on him still there after months and months of being apart. “Talk,” Louis echoes, his mouth twitching into a smile as he speaks.

 

“I just- I’m sorry,” Harry says and instantly the smile washes of Louis’s face, his features stiffening and the fire in his eyes burning down, sensing that this is serious.

 

“I know we already said that, but I guess I owe you an apology,” Harry continues, the words coming out slow. He tastes them on the tip of his tongue before he speaks them, tries them out first.

 

“Harry, no, you don’t owe me anything,” Louis rushes out, shaking his head as he the words spill from his mouth.

 

“I know, but I feel as if-”

 

“Honestly. Harry, love,” Louis pauses, making sure Harry’s got his attention pinned on him, their eyes locked together. He looks down quickly, reaches out for Harry’s hand where it’d been lying on his thigh and twines their fingers together. It feels warm, their palms pressed together, tangled into one. Louis gives it a small squeeze and Harry hums in satisfaction. “I’m sorry too and if anything I owe you an apology. What… What you said on the phone, I get it now.”

 

Harry bumps their shoulders together and Louis looks up at him, a question lingering in his stare. There’s stormy grey nestled into the electric blue of his eyes, calming it somehow and Harry just smiles in return, hoping to settle him. He mouths a small _go on_ and Louis visibly relaxes, his shoulders sagging before he takes a deep breath and continues talking.

 

“I was scared, terrified and so I just... ran. Because I’m good at that, y’know. I’m good at ignoring my problems and not facing them by running away, so that’s what I did.” Harry nods, urging him to keep going.

 

“It felt good at first, just seeing all these new places, meeting all these new people, but I guess I kind of figured it out after a while.”

 

“What’d you figure out?” Harry asks, his voice gentle as he speaks as to not scare Louis away, and it earns him a smile and a squeeze to their clasped hands in return.

 

“That all of the partying and getting wasted and all of that didn’t really matter because the more I did it, the more superficial it started feeling. Like, I wasn’t getting drunk because I wanted to, I was doing it to dull the pain, I guess.

 

“Do you remember what I said about running away but your problems still staying behind and waiting for you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. “I guess that’s what I finally got, like I realized how shitty my actions were, how I kept hurting people, _kept hurting you_.” He looks away at his last words, as if laying himself so raw, exposing so much of his bones washes over him fully, as if it becomes a bit too much.

 

“S’okay,” Harry mumbles, leaning down and dropping a small peck to Louis’s shoulder. It lasts a second but he feels the taste of Louis’s skin lingering on his lips afterwards, a faint reminder of how he’s here, how Louis’s here and how they’re finally doing this, finally talking about it and maybe turning themselves into the _them_ they once belonged to.

 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry, blinking his eyes a couple of times. He looks small, a bit hopeful as a spark flickers to life in his stare when he pins it on Harry. The corners of his lips twitch into a smile and his face relaxes, a content look painted across it.

 

“Of course. You know I really do want to apologize, though.”

 

“Harry, you honestly don’t have to do that,” Louis insists but Harry just shakes his head, nudging their shoulders together once again, shutting him up.

 

“I just… I just feel as if it’s something I have to do for, y’know, this to work out.” He doesn’t specify but Louis nods as if he understands it, as if the words aren’t as cryptic as Harry’s trying to make them seem.

 

“Okay,” he mumbles, finally giving in.

 

Harry gives him a reassuring smile and nods his head, letting a beat pass in silence before he starts. “I was hurt when you left, really hurt. But… I think I was so blinded by that, just feeling sad all the time that I kind of didn’t let myself see things your way. I was so focused on my side of it all that I didn’t think about why you did it, just that you did.” He breaks off and releases the breath that’s been sitting in his chest, closes his eyes and feels the beating of his heart, the warmth trapped between their hands, Louis’s stare still pinned on him and he’s running his thumb soothingly over the knuckles of their clasped hands. Harry looks down on the small gesture and aims a smile at it before he continues.

 

“I suppose that it’s never fair to pin the blame on just one person and that’s why I won’t just accept your apology without letting you hear mine in return. It’s not a onesided fight, or whatever this was. I didn’t contact you either, Louis, I didn’t reach out either. It wasn’t just you and it wasn’t just me, it was both of us and I think that’s important to acknowledge, for us to realize.” He breaks off and leaves the words hanging in the air, waiting for them to fully sink in before they pick up the thread again and continue their conversation.

 

A few beats pass, Louis seemingly pondering the words, twisting them around in his mind, searching for a way to utter his thoughts, before he says,“I do… I do get that and _I’m so sorry, Harry, I_ really am, I- I mean we, we fucked up so bad, didn’t we.”

 

He’s rambling, stumbling over his words in his eagerness to get it all out, his face contorted into a sadness and Harry sees how badly he wants to make him understand, to let him know how much he means it. He nods his head, Louis still spitting out words too fast. To make him stop, Harry shushes him with a tug of his hand, leaning into Louis until their faces are inches apart, so close he can hear Louis’s ragged breathing coming through, feel the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks and see when Louis let’s his lips fall open on an exhaled breath.

 

“ _I’m sorry too,_ ” Harry whispers before he finally leans in the last bit and captures Louis’s lips in between his own.

 

It’s nothing like their first kiss, the one shared in the aftermath of a party, the night fizzling out and just the two of them in the quiet of a lone bedroom. It’d been so gentle them, just the faint brush of lips against lips, a barely there kiss, one that felt like a memory as it was happening. It’s still gentle, still a bit questioning but this feels more final, in a sense. It feels like months and months of wondering and hoping and never letting himself linger on the thought for too long. It feels like it’s all coming full circle, as if they’ve finally reached the part where they belong, where they should be.

 

Their lips slot together time after time, their bodies moving quickly, wrapping around each other, hands roaming and tracing patterns against their skin. It’s new, it’s exciting and Harry’s never felt like this about kissing anyone before. It’s as if their bodies are so in sync, as if they know just how to move in tune to the other one. Harry places his hand so he can tug at the hairs at the nape of Louis’s neck and then rests it there for a passing beat before he moves it down, his fingers slotting into place between Louis’s shoulder blades. It’s a light touch, but Louis just melts into it, his entire body going pliant as Harry pushes further, their lips coming together in another kiss.

 

Harry always thought about how they fit, how their bodies were two pieces of the same puzzle, but this is so different. He feels it in his entire body when Louis kisses him, his heartbeat picking up, his fingers urging to touch, to touch _more_ and his lips giving in and giving himself over to Louis. Their mouths slot together so easily, as if they’ve been doing this their entire lives and a spark flickers to life inside him when he realizes that this is the first kiss of many to come, that this isn’t a kiss to drop and let be forgotten like the last one.

 

After a couple of moments they finally draw back, their lips easing up as they let go. They pant for air, their breathing coming out in quick beats as they try and compose themselves. During the entire time their hands have stayed clasped together and Harry gives them a small squeeze now, a comforting gesture that makes a smile tug at Louis’s lips.

 

“Hi,” he mumbles, leaning forward and kissing Louis’s nose.

 

Louis giggles in return, a small sound that makes his chest vibrate, Harry feeling it from how closely they’re pressed together. “Hi,” he replies, a laugh in his voice even after the giggles stop.

 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Harry whispers, keeping them locked inside their bubble for another passing moment.

 

“Me too,” Louis replies, a hint of sadness lingering in his voice but it’s gone when Harry pecks him lightly on the lips. It’s a brief kiss, just a momentary touch, but it seems to ease Louis up nonetheless.

 

“Can you just… Stay,” Harry finally says, the words exhaled on a breath. They come out as small as he feels speaking them but Louis seems to get it, the two of them on the same wavelength.

 

“I’ll always stay,” he replies, the words coming out muffled as he leans in again and captures their lips in another kiss, the two of them coming together and Harry feels himself going under, his senses washed over by the storm that is Louis. The words _we’re okay_ go unspoken but he feels them fill him up, heightened every time their bodies touch and with every feeling of skin on skin.

 

+

 

“Harry, c’mon just another one!”

 

“Lou, stop it, you’ve already taken like eight photos in a row, is this really necessary?” His bottom lip juts out into a pout and he raises his eyebrows. He crosses his arms over his chest as he gives Louis a pointed look where he’s stood in front of him, snapping picture after picture with his phone.

 

“Yes. It’s your bloody graduation, I’m very well going to remember the only one my boyfriend will ever have, so suck it up and smile,” he replies, dismissing Harry with a wave of his hand. He raises his phone again, hissing another _smile_ as Harry drops his arms to his sides and plasters on a big grin, a faint clicking noise heard above the laughter and voices stirring together from the families surrounding them.

 

The ceremony has just finished and they’re stood outside on the big lawn, Louis playing photographer, capturing Harry and the tree he’s stood in front of from every angle possible. He’s probably got about thirty photos of Harry with the same expression stored in his phone by now, the use for them still unknown.

 

Louis keeps clicking away, getting in another good five photos before Harry finally gives in and walks over, easily wrestling the phone out of Louis’s small hands.

 

“Oi, _watch it,_ ” Louis shouts, his hands wrapped into fists as he reaches out and starts punching Harry lightly in the stomach.

 

“Give it up,” Harry says, his tone annoyed but his face fond as he watches Louis huff and push at his shoulders, walking so they’re stood pressed chest to chest. He probably thinks he looks intimidating like this, his face scolded into something tough with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned downwards, but he mostly looks like a fluffy kitten. Harry brings his hand up to his hair, running his fingers in between the strands.

 

“Are you petting me?” Louis asks, stopping his punches and raising an eyebrow at Harry, an amused look on his face.

 

“Sure, your hair is very fluffy,” he replies, patting Louis lightly on the head once, twice before he lets his hand fall and rest on his lower back.

 

“I’m not some pet you can adopt, y’know,” Louis mutters back, but it’s muffled by Harry pushing them closer together and nuzzling his face into Louis’s cheek, rubbing it in with his eyes closed. He breathes him in and hums contently.

 

“Did you just _purr_?” Louis splutters, the sharp edge of his voice coming out loud from how close they’re pressed together. Harry just gives him another incoherent noise in reply, pressing kisses along Louis’s cheekbones, making his way down to his neck. Above him he can hear Louis start to say something but promptly give in with a small gasp when Harry latches onto the skin behind his ear and sucks. He works it over, his tongue pressing firmly against Louis’s skin, creating a bruise from how hard of a grip he’s got on him.

 

“Oi, quit the PDA, you’re at a family event!” comes a voice behind then suddenly, shattering their bubble. 

 

“Oh, _for fuck’s sake,_  Niall,”  shouts Louis. He sounds annoyed, his shoulders tensing up again and Harry laughs as he let’s go and straightens his back. He eases up his grip on Louis, one of his arms sliding down to wrap around his waist and rest on his hip. He gives a small pinch and Louis jumps, obviously startled.

 

“You’re so disgusting, can’t even keep your hands off each other for two bloody minutes.” Niall shakes his head disapprovingly as he walks over with Zayn and Liam in tow.

 

Harry just waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly in response, earning him an eye roll followed by a deep chuckle from Niall. “Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters as they finally make it to where Harry and Louis are stood. He swings an arm around Harry’s shoulders, making him let go of his grip on Louis as he wraps him up in a big hug. Besides him he can hear Louis make a disgruntled noise at the loss of contact but Harry just gives a light laugh, pushing his face into Niall’s neck as he returns the hug by placing his hands on his back.

 

They hug for a few minutes, Niall mumbling a quiet, “So proud of you, Harry. We did it, didn’t we, we fucking graduated,” into his skin and Harry humming in reply, returning the sentiment just as lowly.

 

After a while the rest come to join them, Liam plastering himself to Niall’s back at which he squeaks, pushing an elbow into Liam’s ribs, the two of them already bickering. Zayn goes to stand in front of them, placing his arms around their shoulders and Louis walks up behind Harry, his hands coming to rest around his waist.

 

“Hi,” he mumbles right into Harry’s ear, a smile in his voice as he speaks.

 

“Love you,” Harry replies, a big grin plastered across his face, dimples pressing craters into his cheeks and his lips stretched wide.

 

“Love you too,” Louis replies and places a brief kiss to the back of Harry’s neck and rests his head there. He pushes his forehead into Harry’s skin and the strands of his fringe tickle Harry, making him giggle.

 

He thinks back to how it was a year ago, when it’d been Louis and Zayn graduating instead. He thinks about listening to the names being rattled off the list, playing with the twins, riding the shaky tube with Louis next to him. Thinks about the roof, lying next to Louis, their bodies pressed so close he could feel the burn from wanting to reach out and touch, from wanting to feel the sparks flicker against his skin, but not doing it. He’d loved Louis then, a sharp, cutting kind of love that he never felt would be returned and thinks about how he loves him now, a soft, mellow kind of love, one that’s like the sun setting at the end of the day, painting their spinning worlds shades of pink, shades of orange and how they both flicker and ignite with every touch.

 

He doesn’t have scars littering his body anymore, invisible cuts that had him bleeding on the inside. He’s got the whole universe with all of it’s burning holes and stars and constellations inside him now, every shade of every color and every storm, every tornado, everything Louis gives him, makes him feel and it’s so much more. The sinking feeling is gone now and replaced with the one of floating, high up above in the sky and maybe that’s enough, he thinks. Maybe that’s all he’ll ever need.

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading loves and i hope you liked it!! please leave kudos and comments because it honestly makes me so so happy and i always love to hear from you!!
> 
> here's the [tumblr post](http://orchidharry.tumblr.com/post/120571973949) for it and you can find me on [tumblr](http://orchidharry.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dudespals)!!


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